Of Mind and Of Will
by Firestar'sniece
Summary: He was told his name wasn't Murtagh; it's Joshua. He was told Alagaesia wasn't real; it was an imaginary land. He was told that Thorn wasn't real; dragons don't exist. And he was told that his entire lifetime was a figment of his imagination; he has psychosis. But now Murtagh isn't so sure anymore. Who is he really?
1. Chapter 1: Psychosis

**I don't own the Inheritance Cycle.**

**Okay, so here we go!**

**And don't forget to check out my other stories, _Brotherhood Never Fades_ and _The Tsunami Shall Crash_!**

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><p><em>He was told his name wasn't Murtagh; it's Joshua. He was told Alagaesia wasn't real; it was an imaginary land. He was told that Thorn wasn't real; dragons don't exist. He was told that his entire life was a figment of his imagination; he has psychosis. But now Murtagh isn't so sure anymore. Who is he really?<em>- Summary

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><p>Chapter One: Psychosis<p>

Boston, Massachusetts. It was December, the winter cold air was settling down on the city, a pale sky filled with gray clouds above the inhabitants. But in one hospital, it was warm inside. Hot chocolate was being served by the staff to the nurses and the patients in the hospital. That is except for one patient in one room.

He was no remarkable man by any means, but he had arrived the other day, apparently in crisis. His ribs were broken, his arms were broken, and he appeared to have suffered a concussion. His clothes were so mangled with blood and unrecognizable that they had thrown it away and he was now wearing donated clothes, ones that were warmer and more suited to the weather. And he was so mangled that people couldn't help but pity him.

"Suicide attempt," was the explanation of the people who had brought him there, that had "rescued" him.

It was hard to tell now with all the medical equipment hooked up to him, but he may have been beautiful at one point. And after his scars and injuries healed, for they were in no way permanent, thank goodness, he would be back to his former beauty and glory.

He was a young man, no older than twenty, but he seemed more around nineteen. "He's too young to die," one nurse had mourned. And for many, they couldn't understand how someone as gorgeous as him would want to give up on life. His athletic build and dark brown hair would make many young men his age envy him for he could win any girl's heart with his looks alone it seemed.

So what had happened to him?

According to the people who brought him in, young Joshua Arnold Vandervoot had been suffering severe psychotic breakdowns and hallucinations. During one of these hallucinations he had decided to take his motorcycle and attempt to commit suicide by running off a high bridge with it, thus his injuries.

His psychological medical staff who had been tending to him and treating him for over a year were aware that he had been suffering these hallucinations and suicidal thoughts. And a neighbor, who was also aware of it, had decided to call 911 when he had not returned home for that evening.

Enter the police. They'd been investigating a different case, the case of someone running their motorcycle off the freeway, seemingly on purpose, when they'd received a report of a missing person. They put two and two together. And after seeing the ID it was confirmed. This was Joshua, the one who was reported missing.

He was rushed to the hospital and people were in a hurry to save his life. He was fortunate that he arrived at the hospital when he did, for if hadn't he would be dead.

And so that is where he lay right now, in a coma. A sad story, according to the staff.

As a nurse came in to give young Joshua more sedative to help ease any pain he may be experiencing, she noticed that he began stirring and waking up a bit. He groaned some, and his eyes fluttered open before shutting again. "Joshua?" she called again, but pretty soon he was out once more. She administered the sedative, wishing with all her heart that he would get better soon.

(Over the course of a few days)

Joshua remained in and out of consciousness for the next few days. According to the doctor, while he was in a coma, he was in the stages of waking up, and he should be out of the coma soon.

The hospital community silently prayed that he would get better. And so it continued off and on. Sometimes he would groan, and sometimes he would be close to consciousness. But he still remained under, as if something was holding him back.

The hospital staff remained patient.

(Two weeks later)

He finally did wake up, to the joy of the staff. Two weeks later he opened his eyes and for the first time stayed awake, muttering softly in words they couldn't understand. His eyes gazed around the room in confusion, to the hospital clothes he was wearing, to the beeping monitors, to the electric lights. He gazed at the shades which were shut, and heard the siren of emergency vehicles, and as he tried to sit up, he groaned in pain, reaching down and feeling his broken ribs.

A bright eyed nurse with blonde hair and blue eyes happily walked in and smiled when she saw him. "Ah, Joshua, you're awake!" she greeted.

The young man stared at her in confusion, unexpectedly. "Who?" he finally murmured out loud and the woman frowned, obviously confused.

"Joshua?" she asked again, and the young man shook his head.

"Who's that?" he asked, and she gazed at him in pity.

"It's your name," she explained and the man's eyes widened. He shook his head, bringing his hand to his forehead as if expecting that he had a temperature only to find it was fine.

"My name's not Joshua," he murmured softly, and groaned at the pain he was in. "It's Murtagh."

And the woman frowned, considering him carefully. "No, I'm pretty sure it's Joshua. It says here on your medical records. Joshua Arnold Vandervoot."

The man's eyes then snapped to her. "Since when do I have more than one name?" he asked incredulously, like it was something unheard of, and the woman walked over, setting the medical tab in her hands on a metal table beside him. When she reached out for his wrist to take his pulse he flinched away, and she sighed, reaching again. This time he didn't resist.

"Well," she began conversationally, as if on an off note. "What did you think your name was?"

"Murtagh Morzansson," was the reply, and she frowned once more, her lips counting softly.

Finally she was done counting. "I've never heard that last name before," and she was writing down the results on the tab.

And Murtagh was confused. "Last name?" he echoed, and the woman rolled her eyes.

"You must have amnesia," she sighed gently. "You're confused. It's to be expected with the accident and all. Only time and work will give you your memory back."

"Accident?" Murtagh's eyes widened. "There was no accident! Where's Thorn?"

And it was the woman's turn to be confused. "Thorn?" she inquired, her hair in the high pony tail swinging as she turned to face her patient once more.

"My dragon," Murtagh explained with a frown, and he seemed to be on edge now.

At this, the woman laughed lightly, like she wasn't taking him seriously. "My, you do have an imagination!" she commented and frustration seared through the boy at this.

"I never imagined him!" Murtagh snapped, loosing his cool. And he was so confused. What was this place? Where was he? "My bond with Thorn is real! And this mark on my left hand, the gedwey ignasia, is proof that I'm bonded to Thorn for life!"

He reached out his left hand to show her as proof and then gasped at what he saw. Horror filled him. His gedwey ignasia wasn't there. It was gone, completely gone! His left hand was smooth, obviously the tone of his skin, and it was as if the gedwey ignasia had never been given, as if it had never existed on him to begin with.

Emotions began brewing through him, one being confusion, and the other being shock. What could have happened to his gedwey ignasia? And now that it was gone, what did that mean? Did that mean that his bond with his dragon was severed, even if Thorn was still alive?

And he was afraid. The woman though, when she saw this, did her best to console him. "Look," she murmured softly. "We know you're going through a rough time, what with the accident and all. So just take it easy, okay?" And she got up and headed to the door, ready to leave.

Murtagh brought his horror filled eyes to the door. "Wait!" he called out to the woman and she stopped, waiting to see what he had to say. "Where am I?" he asked. "What is this place?"

"Why it's a hospital!" the woman replied as if he should have known. "You're in Maine's street hospital, in Boston, Massachusetts!" And with that she left, Murtagh staring after her in confusion and fear, feeling completely out of place and alone. He was absolutely sure that he'd never heard of any of those things before. And why were they acting like dragons weren't real?

"Boston, Massachusetts?" Murtagh echoed when he'd recovered.

(Time Jump)

Life in the hospital had been a living nightmare for Murtagh. For one, he couldn't leave until he was "discharged", something the doctors weren't willing to do yet. For another, he kept getting confused glances whenever he would ask about Alagaesia or Eragon.

Another problem Murtagh seemed to be encountering was that no one seemed to believe him when he said that his name was Murtagh. They'd insist that his records said otherwise, and when he'd challenged that maybe they had mistaken him for someone else they would just laugh like he'd said the cutest thing. Then they'd reassure him that they had the right records.

"I just want to get back home!" he explained. "I want to go back to Alagaesia, to my people, where I belong!" And they would always laugh and say that he had a wonderful imagination.

"You should write a children's novel someday," one of the staff, a man, had told him. "If you published it, I'd read about it!" And Murtagh couldn't help but grind his teeth at that. No one ever seemed to take him seriously or anything he said seriously.

Murtagh sincerely hoped that Eragon would get him out of this mess soon. The boy owed him. After all, if Eragon had come for him the first time, then he wouldn't have suffered at the hands of Galbatorix. And they could have recovered the dragon eggs, then Thorn wouldn't have grown up in misery when he'd hatched for Murtagh.

But that only led him to his next question: did Eragon even know where he was, let alone how to get here? And what happened if he didn't? Was he trapped here forever? He shuddered to think.

That led to another problem Murtagh was having: some of his memory was missing. For one, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here. Number two was the last thing he remembered was flying with Thorn. Then his memory skipped to being in and out of consciousness in this "hospital" (more like torture chamber he thought). Then his next memory was waking up here.

It was a giant nightmare to him, a nightmare that was never ending. It reminded him of the nightmare he had lived when he was a slave to Galbatorix, and he shuddered to think about that. He still hadn't recovered completely from that, and emotional scars from that encounter were left on him permanently. And much of his memory from that time had been missing for a while as well, long before he had landed here in "Boston, Massachusetts".

However his nightmare only continued to get worse. On the day of being discharged several men wearing black business slacks and black overcoats with white undercoats turned up. How they were practically dressed the same, he didn't know, but now that he thought about it, it seemed to be the same for the nurses and doctors; they wore similar things.

There was something about these people, these men that he didn't quite trust. And they seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite remember why.

One man was bald with light brown eyebrows, of average height, his green eyes staring expectantly at Murtagh as if he were an old time friend. Murtagh shivered slightly at the sight of him, unsure why he was wary and frightened of him. He was currently seated in his hospital bed and he'd just signed the release papers. How he wrote the words, he didn't know. It was familiar but it seemed as if it shouldn't have been, as if it were foreign.

"Ah, Joshua!" the bald man greeted, and Murtagh narrowed his eyes. "I'm so glad to see that you've recovered, well physically, at least!" And the scars on him were barely visible anymore.

The nurse, the same one that had greeted him the first time, smiled softly to him. "I'll leave you be with them," she murmured softly, and Murtagh felt his gut clench. He didn't want her to go. He felt safer with her there, much as he didn't like her because of her attitude towards him.

But she left him anyways after smiling reassuringly, and Murtagh watched the men carefully as they approached him. In a minute the woman was out the door.

The bald man took a seat beside him, staring at him in a caring manner. "So are you recovering?" he asked and Murtagh wasn't sure whether to answer or not.

He decided to anyways, if anything to test this man and see what he was really here for. "Yes," was his reply, and the man looked satisfied, as if it were good news.

"I'm glad to hear," he concluded as if he were genuinely concerned, and though the average wouldn't see it, Murtagh thought that those words had a slightly different meaning than might usually be implied. And it was then he was sure; this man wanted him for something.

"And that leads us to our next discussion," the man then brought up, and Murtagh glanced at the others. Some of them walked to the medical tablet that the woman had purposefully left behind and were staring at it. And when Murtagh turned his confused glare back to the bald man, he shrugged. "You're suicide attempt," he explained, as if it should have been obvious.

Clenching his fists, Murtagh grit his teeth. "I didn't try to commit suicide!" he said for the umpteenth time. The hospital staff had brought this up before, and as much as he tried to explain that, they would never believe him. Why would he want to die?

The man didn't seem to believe him though. "Oh?" he challenged. "Then do you care to explain why you ran your motorcycle off the bridge on the highway?"

Confusion flooded him once more. He wasn't familiar with that term. "Motorcycle?" he asked, and the man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as if Murtagh were a problem child and was causing trouble yet denying it.

The man stared at him for a little while longer after that. "We ran drug tests. You were not on any drugs, illegal or otherwise. You weren't drinking alcohol, therefore you couldn't have been drunk. But we are aware that you've been having...mental problems as of late. You were going through a rough emotional time. And you're saying that you didn't try to commit suicide?"

Murtagh honestly didn't know how to answer that. Most of the terminology, he didn't understand. And yes, he hated alcohol because of what Morzan did to him as a kid. But mental problems? What was that?

He didn't understand, so he tried a different avenue. "Where's Thorn?" he demanded, and all the men stared at him, the one reading through his files putting the medical tab down.

Baldy stared seriously at him for a minute. Then he sighed. "We've been aware of your hallucinations, Joshua."

And sudden anger gripped him. "My name isn't Joshua! It's Murtagh!" he demanded, but they merely raised their eyebrows, unbelieving.

"Oh?" baldy asked and reached for the medical tab. Another man with dark skin and brown hair handed it to him. "Then why does your medical file say otherwise?"

"They have it wrong!" Murtagh fought back. And he was getting tired of this game. "Now where's Thorn? I swear, if you've hurt him in any manner-" he began only to be cut off.

"There is no Thorn, Joshua." The bald man's voice was firm, convincing, but Murtagh shook his head disbelievingly even as baldy continued. "Dragons don't exist. It's a figment of your imagination that you've thought up in your psychotic state..."

"No!" Murtagh shook his head. It wasn't true. He wasn't going to believe it, even as the man continued on with his rambling.

"...You have a mental illness. In the emotional pain you've been experiencing you've thought up this land of "Alagaesia" as a way to escape from reality..."

"You lie!" the young man whispered in denial, and he was angry that this man was doing this to him. Another Galbatorix. Another corrupt individual to fight who wanted him to believe the propaganda that was given to him.

"...And you imagined the villain Galbatorix as a way to deal with the grief you faced from all the set backs you've had in life, from the abuse and kidnapping you endured at the radical group Commemorate. He's probably symbolic of your experience at their hands, how they tortured you and hurt you, and so you imagined up an individual that was all of those things combined..."

"He was real!" Murtagh shouted, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes as they said these things. "I fought him! Eragon fought him!"

"...And this Eragon who is supposedly alive and real is probably a way for you to cope with the death of your little brother when you were a young boy. It's probably a way for you to cope with the abuse you endured as a kid. This Morzan is probably a representative of the fact that your mother and father would beat you as a kid..."

"Selena never beat me!" Murtagh hissed. "She tried to save me from that monster Morzan!"

"...And this dragon Thorn was probably made up as a way for you to escape your loneliness in life and your need for a friend. So instead of making friends in real life, you made one up..."

"_**THORN IS REAL**_!" Murtagh screeched and the doctor shut his mouth abruptly. Screaming, Murtagh took the unusual writing tool that he'd retained after signing the papers and threw it at the doctor. But baldy caught it graciously. "**DON'T _EVER_ SAY MY DRAGON WASN'T REAL**!"

Baldy looked at him piteously. "But he isn't," he replied gently and Murtagh screamed grabbing his hair. It was a nightmare. It was Galbatorix and his soft words after a torture session all over again.

Baldy continued, "You changed your name to Murtagh as a way to deal with the pain, and you entered this fictional, imaginary place in your mind where you could play out your delusions so you wouldn't have to face real life. And you've become aggressive and suicidal from everything you've gone through."

"No!" Murtagh whispered hugging himself. He had been through something like this before at Galbatorix's hand, and he was determined not to fall again. Never again would he be brainwashed into believing things by men like him. He would resist.

"You're suffering a mental illness, Joshua," the bald man replied softly, even as tears streamed down Murtagh's eyes. He was in a panic for his worst nightmare was coming true again. "You have a mental illness, and we're here to help you. That's why we're taking you away to a special place to help people like you. You will stay there until you get better, and you will be comfortable while we treat you. You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be all right."

However, Murtagh wasn't so sure about that. But one thing was for sure. There was no way he was going. "You can't take me!" he hissed through clenched teeth and a shiver ran down his spine as he heard the next words, making his fear increase tenfold.

"Oh, but we can," baldy replied calmly, authoritatively. "In fact your transport is already here. You see, you've been placed under the care of other people due to the fact that you can't take care of yourself..." And at this Murtagh made to hit the bald man but was held back.

"I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!" Murtagh yelled, and struggled against the men trying to restrain him, thinking of Galbatorix and what the evil king had done to him. Never again would he go through that. "YOU'RE LYING TO ME! I'VE SEEN THOSE LIKE YOU BEFORE! YOU HARM OTHERS UNTIL THEY BELIEVE WHAT YOU SAY! I'M NOT GOING WITH YOU!"

"You have no choice," Baldy whispered. "It's for your own good. Believe me, Joshua. We're here to help you. Just let us do our job. Everything will be all right."

He spoke in such a calm, soothing manner that it made Murtagh panic. He made to hit the men around him but they held him back, and all of a sudden the door opened and the blonde nurse walked in, a long, thin syringe in her right hand. A pitiful expression was on her face as she stared at him.

Tears were pouring down his face as Murtagh stared at the woman. "Help!" he begged her as he resisted the restraining men, and baldy stared at him impassively, observing him. She never moved to help him, instead she watched him sadly.

"You have a choice, Joshua," the bald man finally continued and Murtagh struggled even harder and the men had a hard time containing him. "You can either cooperate and come quietly, or I can have Ms. Jones sedate you. But you will come, either way. What's it going to be?"

Panic ensued in Murtagh and he gave the most pleading expression he could to the nurse, but she wouldn't relent. "Help me!" he begged her. "This man is lying! He's not here to help me! He'll hurt me!" But to his frustration the woman didn't seem to believe him, but the lying man instead.

"Joshua..." baldy warned and Murtagh kicked one of the men in between the legs. He yelled out, but the other men managed to hold him back and Murtagh struggled as baldy came over. Then baldy, and the man who Murtagh had kicked, restrained him further.

"It seems we have no choice," baldy murmured softly, as if he were disappointed. "Ms. Jones, if you will?" And she nodded and then approached him.

"NO!" Murtagh screamed in desperation and tried his hardest to get away from the woman.

The long, thin syringe suddenly seemed threatening more than ever to Murtagh, and he screeched as she came over. But struggling was pointless. Making no comments, she slipped the thin, long needle into his arm. No pain came from it, but to Murtagh it was like a nightmare that he knew had happened, but he could no longer remember. He screamed and continued to scream as the syringe was pushed down and the needle was taken out.

Darkness swam before his eyes. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "No!" he whispered once more as he felt his consciousness slipping and his body relaxing.

He was vaguely aware of being picked up and put on a stretcher with wheels. He vaguely remembered lights as he was wheeled down the hallway. He vaguely remembered soft voices getting further and further away. And he vaguely remembered being put in the back of a van.

Then all was black.

(Murtagh Point of View)

Waking up to this nightmare was painful. He gasped as he awoke, the whiteness all around him, blinding him. As he looked around he saw that he was in a white windowless room and had been placed on a bed. The bed was simple with plain white sheets.

He was dressed in white, his attire similar to the nurses uniforms, and as he looked down he saw that he was wearing socks but no shoes. Huh. They must not trust him enough to tie his own shoelaces.

A quick glance at the room as he sat up told him that it was simple. The furniture was simple, a desk in one corner with a single chair, and a shallow closet to put his belongings and clothes in. He had a simple bathroom, which when he checked out later consisted of a toilet (a most curious thing), a wash basin they called a sink that filled with water from the nozzle above it, and a shower that ran hot and cold water when turning the "knobs".

Though Murtagh was familiar with these things, he also felt that it was foreign. They had nothing like this in Alagaesia. So how did he know how to use things, like it was instinct almost?

And though he was sad, he began his usual morning routine as he washed his face, using a towel that was hanging beside him on the metal ring to dry his face. He gasped at the coolness of the water, and as he looked into the rectangular large mirror in front of him, the mirror that was so smooth and couldn't have been formed with a hammer, he saw his sunken and almost defeated gaze.

But his sad expression did nothing to defeat his determination to find out what was going on. Turning his back on the mirror so he wouldn't have to see himself, he leaned against the sink. He thought about all the strange things he has experienced the past couple of weeks. The "technology", the weird gadgets that everyone took for granted, and the availability of clean, odd tasting, running water was most unusual about this culture.

"So familiar," he murmured to himself as he was deep in thought. "And yet, so foreign to me." And another question on his mind, "How did I get here?"

He didn't have a chance to think on that though, for he heard the door to his room open. Then there was a soft knock on the bathroom door as it was closed.

"Joshua?" a female voice called out, and Murtagh tightened his hands in a death grip angrily. He hated it when people called him that name. "Are you all right?" the soft voice wafted through the door and Murtagh knew that he would have no choice but to come out soon.

"Yes!" he answered, keeping the attitude in his voice, and then he twisted the doorknob, coming out. A middle aged woman greeted him, with brown, curly hair and blue eyes. Her beautiful dark tone made it seem as if she would have been pretty when she had been in her prime age. But she was slightly big around the waist.

She reached out for his hand and Murtagh flinched away. Then she sighed. "I need to take your pulse," she demanded, staring intensely at him. "It's mandatory for all the patients."

Grudgingly, Murtagh gave in. When she was finished she put a probe cover on a thermometer, and she took his temperature. It was another one of those weird gadgets that seemed familiar to Murtagh, and yet so foreign. And it was common place in the hospital he had stayed at previously.

So far, Murtagh did his best to stay calm despite his anger at the situation. If he was sure of anything, it was that things were going to get worse, and he needed to be prepared for it.

When the woman was done taking his "vitals" as she had called it, she wrote everything down on the medical tab she was carrying. Then she opened the door that had been originally locked when Murtagh had first tried it after waking up.

"Okay, I'm here to take you to your first appointment with the doctor," she announced without further adieu and led the way out. And though he was hesitant to follow her, he realized that if he didn't he'd more than likely be stuck in that room the remainder of the day. So, sighing, he followed her out the door and to what he thought was his first major challenge.

A hallway with many doors for the patients greeted him, and as he walked down he saw a common room where patients dressed like him were staying. Some were at desks that were scattered around, writing letters to friends and family it seemed. But on a second glance he saw that they weren't letters, but rather worksheets. Many of them read, "What have I learned from therapy today?"

Again, it confused Murtagh how he knew the language. He could read it. It was familiar to him, and yet it seemed foreign, and this frustrated him.

The nurse led him out the double doors that only opened when she put her card in front of a little white box, and then they were out, in another corridor.

Murtagh lost track of the way as they went down elevators, corridors, more sealed doors, and past many rooms. But suffice it to say, they finally arrived at their destination, a plain, wood door. After knocking on the door, Murtagh's gut clenched as he heard a familiar voice. "Come in!" it greeted.

The woman opened the door for him and smiled gently, gesturing for him to go "to his doom" as Murtagh called it. Murtagh clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and then opened them. Taking a deep breath because he knew this meeting would more than likely end in an argument of how things really were, and possibly being restrained again if the incident in the Main hospital was anything to go by, he walked in.

And the door shut behind him softly, yet it seemed loud to him.

The room had a desk with a comfortable rotating chair behind it in which baldy sat. At the front of the desk was a plaque that read:_ Dr. Stephen W. Windstead_.

Oh. So that was baldy's name. But Murtagh still preferred to think of him as baldy, if anything because it was a mental rebellion of sorts against the man that was currently ruining his life. He may even decide to call the doc "baldy" on occasions, if anything just to get a rise out of him and see what he would do.

The doc gestured to a brown, leather couch behind him, the only other furniture in the otherwise bare room, and Murtagh, somehow understanding it as an invitation for him to sit down, decided to accept the invitation. As baldy stared at him, scrutinizing him, Murtagh took the time to read the other plaques displayed on the walls, graduation and p.h.d certificates and what not.

Tension filled the room, but the doc spoke with a calm voice as he addressed him. "Do you know why you're here, Joshua?" he asked and watched Murtagh closely. And Murtagh couldn't help but clench his fists as the name Joshua was said. He hated it when people called him that name.

He decided to give some attitude. "Do you want the reason you made up why I'm here? Yeah, I can give that to you. But in return I want to know why I'm _**really**_ here."

Baldy sighed, and Murtagh couldn't help but fold his arms, lean back, and glare, purposefully mimicking the doctor. "This would be so much easier if you would just cooperate," Dr. Windstead calmly replied, and Murtagh glared at him. "You know why you're here. If you would just cooperate and let us treat you, then you would be out of here so much sooner."

"Then why am I here?" Murtagh challenged, and the doc stared calmly back. "The real reason?"

"You're here because of your suicide attempt," Dr. Windstead calmly replied, and Murtagh clenched his fists, angry at this game.

"No," he demanded. "I mean the _**real**_ reason. I mean the reason I'm here and not in Alagaesia. I mean the reason my gedwey ignasia is missing. _**AND I MEAN THE REASON I'M BEING HELD CAPTIVE BY A MAN TRYING TO BRAINWASH ME**_!"

As Murtagh ended up yelling, he took several deep breaths to calm himself down. And then his tone was pleading. "Please, sir, I just want answers! I don't understand why! What do you want from me?"

Holding his tears back, he waited, and the doc watched him calmly. "You've been having a rough time. It's understandable that you're confused because of your hallucinations, but we're going to help you with that." It was spoken in a reassuring manner, and Murtagh shook his head angrily.

"No amount of soft words will help me," Murtagh whispered, and looked away so that he wouldn't end up blowing up in front of the doc again. "I just want the truth."

"And the truth is that you're suffering severe psychosis," the doctor firmly replied and Murtagh gripped the couch in emotional pain and anger.

"No," Murtagh denied. "I am _**not**_ mentally ill! I did _**not**_ try to commit suicide! I have a lot left to live for! And the last thing I remember before waking up in that hospital was flying with Thorn."

"One of your illusions," it was explained away, and Murtagh shook his head.

He shook one accusing finger at the doctor, as if he'd caught him in the lie. "See!" he demanded. "This is all a trick! All of this! See? You can can tell me I'm psychotic, you can tell me that I'm hallucinating; you can even tell me that I tried to commit suicide, but that doesn't change the fact that I _**remember**_ living in Alagaesia ever since I was a young child!"

"And you started these hallucinations at a young age from everything you went through," was the response, and Murtagh banged his fists against the chair in anger. "These hallucinations have been happening off and on."

"No!" Murtagh hit the couch again. "I _**remember**_ Alagaesia even as a baby! Babies don't hallucinate! I _**remember **_all of that, but I _**don't**_ remember ever living in this world!"

The doc sighed at this. "You've suffered amnesia due to the amount of stress you'd been under," he explained. "We've been trying to help you with this as well. And these hallucinations only got worse and took the place of your real memories. Your mind made up living there because it couldn't cope with the reality of your real life."

"NO!" Murtagh shouted, leaning forward. It was going just as he predicted, a fighting match. "I won't believe you!" he ground out. "You're just trying to use me, all of you!"

And at that, baldy gazed at him curiously. "You don't believe we're trying to help you, Joshua?" And Murtagh shook his head firmly. Not a chance. Baldy spread his arms wide in a prove me wrong gesture. "Then explain this," he demanded. "You can feel the couch with your bare hands. Yes?"

Murtagh nodded his head. "Well of course!" he snapped back. Did the doc think him an idiot?

"And you can feel the air around you. You know this room is real."

Once more, Murtagh nodded. "Of course! But how does that prove that you're right?"

The doc gestured once more. "How can Alagaesia be real? Can you feel it right now?"

The room dropped temperature, becoming frigid. And Murtagh honestly didn't know how to answer that. "I felt it when I was there," he frowned as he replied, not sure why the doc meant that as a sign that his beloved homeland had all been in his head. "Just because I can't feel it right now doesn't mean it's not real. I felt it back then."

"In a _**hallucination**_," Dr. Windstead emphasized. "Of course it felt real! But are you hallucinating right now?"

Murtagh frowned further, leaning back, glaring. "No," he finally admitted, and the doc nodded.

"So you trust that what you're experiencing right now is real?" he demanded, and Murtagh nodded. It was real, but frightening, not something he'd admit in front of the doc though.

"Then trust this," Dr. Windstead continued. "Trust in the here and now. We both agree that this isn't a hallucination, therefore it's safe to say that this is real. What we cannot agree on is this Alagaesia. Trust logic, boy. This is real. Alagaesia is not."

Murtagh laughed a little without humor, rolling his eyes. "Just because you claim it isn't real, doesn't mean that it's not real."

And Dr. Windstead shrugged. "The whole world says it's not real. Do you trust the world?"

"Not a chance!" snapped Murtagh. "The world's done a lot of crazy things, back where I'm from and I'm pretty sure it's the same thing here."

"Well," Dr. Windstead continued with a sigh. "I will agree with you on the fact that the world _**has**_ done a lot of crazy things. But does not change the fact that Alagaesia was a figment of your imagination. Everything you think you've done there, that was all fake. You're amnesic and have forgotten your real life, and instead these hallucinations have replaced your memories."

Murtagh sneered and scoffed. "I don't believe you!" he emphasized. "I've seen this game before with Galbatorix! I know what you're trying to do to me!"

As Dr. Windstead softly shook his head, he sighed. "Galbatorix isn't a real man," he told him. "And what kind of name is Galbatorix?" He too leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

"It's the name of a mad king now dead," Murtagh snapped. He had no wish to relieve those memories involving that man.

"And what do you think this madman represents in real life?" was the next question, and Murtagh felt insulted at what he was insinuating.

"He was real and deadly," growled Murtagh and the doctor shook his head once more, almost sadly. "I never hallucinated any of it!" proclaimed the red rider even though he knew that the doctor wouldn't agree with it. But he was not giving in. Not yet. Not ever.

"You did," the doctor encouraged, and Murtagh looked away angrily. "Listen to me, Joshua," baldy then used a pleading tone. "You've been having trouble differentiating reality from the hallucinations for a while now. I've been working with you a long time. You remember me, don't you?"

And Murtagh froze at this. While it seemed harmless, Murtagh was sure that there was an underlying meaning behind this. And he was afraid. How much time had passed since he had last been in Alagaesia? How long had he been stuck in this world for? And what was the doc saying about his missing memories? Had they done something to him before? And when had he met baldy before?

The doc had seemed familiar from the get go, and he'd never understood why. But, upon seeing his confused expression, the doctor then explained, "I've been your psychiatric care provider for a long time, Joshua. I've been treating you since you were a kid. I was there when your younger brother was drowned by your father and mother.

"I helped you through that, and I've been helping you with outpatient care and therapy. I was also there treating you when you were in the mental hospital the first time. _**I know you**_," he emphasized.

Tremors went through Murtagh's body at this. He got the message. He had been a prisoner for a very long time, and he didn't even remember it. Apparently a lot of time had passed. And this man had been watching him for a very long time.

"No!" Murtagh whispered, confused at the whole situation, thinking about his little brother Eragon. When would the blue rider get him out of here? And what had happened during his missing memories? Why couldn't he remember? What had been done to him? He put his head in his hands and he remained in that position thinking things through.

A soft rustling was heard and the next thing he knew the doctor was sitting by him on the couch. Carefully, looking up at the doctor, he gazed warily into the man's eyes. "Who are you?" he demanded, and the doctor placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, which Murtagh didn't like.

"A friend," was the simple statement, and though Murtagh tensed and didn't believe it, he didn't say anything of it. He had gone through too much and was overwhelmed at the idea that he had been a prisoner for a long time. He had a lot to think over and plan.

The man kept his hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "Will you let an old friend help you out?" he asked, and it seemed perfectly genuine, but Murtagh knew better.

He laughed bitterly. "I think we both have two very different definitions of help," he sarcastically responded, and the man shrugged some.

"I'm not so sure about that," the doctor replied and got up, walking back over to his desk. "After all, you want answers and I can give those answers."

"But not the truth," Murtagh demanded, watching the man carefully as he opened the drawers and rummaged through it. Finally, he pulled something out and walked back over.

"I can give you reality," the man responded firmly and held out what he had taken out of the desk, a newspaper. Murtagh rolled his eyes and leaned back, crossing his arms in defiance. But when the doc reached out more and was persistent, Murtagh rudely snatched it from his hand.

He nearly dropped the newspaper in shock and horror. His face was frozen and petrified. As he was staring at the article, he heard the doctor rummage through his desk more.

On the front page was a picture of Murtagh, but he was surrounded by individuals who were beating him up. It was easy to see that they were protesters, for they were holding protesting signs. And on them was the name, Commemorate. The Murtagh in the picture was curled in fetal position, trying to shield himself as the people pummeled him, and he was bloody all over.

Murtagh stared at the captions. It read: _**Commemorate** Beats **Speak Up** Activist to Near Death_. And the name Speak Up confused him until he skimmed the article. Apparently it was group about speaking up against child and spouse abuse.

Dr. Windstead came over once more, and Murtagh silently dropped the newspaper to the ground as he reached out for a few more that the doc had. Tears were in his eyes at this. This was a cruel joke to play on someone. And he didn't want to believe it was real.

The next two articles read: _**Commemorate **Kidnaps **Speak Up** Activist and Holds Him Hostage_, and _Police Negotiating with **Commemorate** For the Release of Hostage_. The first one had a picture of Murtagh in jeans and a Speak Up t-shirt. He was giving a thumbs up to whoever had taken the picture.

The next image was more gruesome, however. It showed a picture of Murtagh, bloody and beaten, kneeling with his hands tied behind his back, a gun pointed to his head as several masked people held him back and pointed their weapons at him in a threatening manner.

"No!" whispered Murtagh, and he looked at the last newspaper. This one was several years older. It depicted a picture of a young boy smiling. He looked nothing like Eragon, with blonde hair and blue eyes. But the next picture beside it on the front page was of a slightly older boy, but this boy looked like Murtagh aged backwards. In fact, Murtagh knew he was staring at an image of himself.

The caption on this article read: _Boy Drowned by Parents, Remaining Child in Custody_. He skimmed the article some, reading the first part. It read: _Mr. and Mrs. Gerald are currently in custody facing murder charges on account of the drowning of their youngest child Alexander David Gerald. Their eldest son, Joshua Arnold Gerald, is in the care of local neighbors, a Mr. and Mrs. Vandervoot. They have expressed interest in adopting him. _

_ Alexander David Gerald was only five years old when drowned by his parents, and according to neighbors, they had given reports of abuse on him and his elder sibling, Joshua, before. While reported to the police, they were not apprehended, and it is expected that a criminal investigation is to be held on whether or not the local police administration were failing in their duties to apprehend such criminal behaviors._

_ The surviving brother, Joshua, is currently in the hospital being treated for multiple injuries..._

Murtagh slammed the newspapers down. "No!" he demanded, folding his arms. "I refuse to believe it!" And yet the newspapers were so real, so convincing...

The truth was, he didn't know what to believe anymore. He still believed that Alagaesia was real, and he still believed that Eragon was real. But there also seemed to be more going on.

Dr. Windstead stared at him sadly. "You've had a rough life," he sighed. "I can only hope that you can find peace in reality. However, you always had a kind heart. You were always willing to stick up for what you believed in, no matter what people thought about you or said about you."

And with that, baldy got up and opened the door to his office. The nurse who had taken Murtagh to his appointment was standing there. And Murtagh understood. His appointment was over.

Tears flowed down Murtagh's eyes, and he glanced at the door, thankful he was getting a reprieve. Picking up the newspapers, he looked to the doctor who nodded. Why he wanted them, he didn't know, but he hoped that there were clues in them to this whole predicament. And so he trudged out the door like a zombie, devoid of emotions.

As he was led back to his room the nurse walked beside him and put a soft hand on his shoulder. "You alright?" she asked him, but he didn't answer.

He headed straight to his room and shut the door behind him, slamming the newspapers on the desk. Then, sitting down, he put his head in his hands and wept, the stress of his situation getting to him. He was confused. Alagaesia was real, he knew, but why were these people so eager to persuade him that it wasn't? What did they want from him?

And there were even more questions running through his head. How long had he been here in this world for? How had he come here? Why was a huge chunk of his memory missing? And how had he ended up in the local hospital in Boston, Massachusetts to begin with?

And there was one question that was the biggest for him and made him very afraid. How was he going to get home? Was there anyone even looking for him? Was there anyone that could help him get home? And what would he do if he was stranded here and had no way back?

The whole event was stressful for him, and he'd had enough for the day. So, curling up on the bed, he decided to go to sleep. And as he dozed off, he dreamed of Alagaesia.

(Murtagh Point of View)

It was afternoon by the time he woke up, and it was currently "quiet time". All the patients in the hospital were in their rooms, engaging in silent activities, and Murtagh was one of them, but with an ulterior motive. For one, he was going to use the time to try to solve this puzzle.

He had the newspapers in front of him, and he was currently examining them, trying to pick them apart for any information that could shed light on his current predicament. In his right hand he was tapping his pen to the desk, an odd writing utensil in his opinion.

He was so used to using a quill and having to rewet the tip every so often that it felt weird writing with something that automatically flowed with ink inside of it, only running out after a few months. And yet something like this seemed familiar, even in the hospital, like he'd used these weird pens before. It was like the pens were magic.

Magic! His eyes widened as he thought about this, and then fear struck him. Magic. It seemed so familiar and something from Alagaesia, so why hadn't he remembered it in all the two weeks that he'd been awake for?

And then he realized that magic and the knowledge of them was hazy in his mind at the best. It was then that he realized that he had a hard time recalling anything about it and how to use it. This only caused him to frown with worry.

It was from this that Murtagh realized that there was a lot more missing from his memory than he realized. And the worst part was he couldn't remember what he wasn't remembering. It simply wasn't there. It was as if it never existed.

With a sigh, Murtagh tried to remember the rules of magic and how it worked. 'After all,' he thought hopefully. 'If I can figure out how to use magic once more, then I can escape here. And maybe I can transport myself home. At the very least I can escape and convince some people that I'm telling the truth, that these people are holding me captive here.'

Magic. It was worth a try. But that word also brought a hazy, long forgotten image of a dark skinned woman with a beautiful smile and a wonderful gold crown on her head. _**Nasuada**_. That was the name, he was sure, but he couldn't quite remember more about her, and he wasn't quite sure what he felt about her. Was she a friend? An enemy? Was she Galbatorix's wife perhaps?

After all, why would she be wearing a queen's crown then? Or perhaps she was his daughter and had succeeded him to the throne? After all, she had to be from Alagaesia with the clothing she was wearing in his brief, hazy vision of her. And Murtagh sighed in confusion. It worried him that he was struggling to remember the details.

It also brought a frightening thought to mind. Maybe his memories of his time in Alagaesia were slowly slipping away. Dropping the pen in sudden fear, he began trembling a bit and grasped the edge of the table for support.

It took a minute for him to quiet his breaths down, and then he shook his head. 'I'm not even going to think that,' he convinced himself. 'I'm not losing any more of my memories. I can't be.'

But it was still a frightening prospect. After all, it meant that resisting the doctors would be harder as his memory of his time in Alagaesia slipped further and further away. And if it disappeared completely to where he didn't have anything to grasp for, he didn't know what he'd do then.

Desperate to think of something else, he brought his focus back to the newspapers, staring silently at them. And, closing his eyes, he did his best to remember his magic lessons, as if it were the only lifeline he might have that led away from here, an escape plan.

'Okay,' he told himself. 'Think. What are the rules? Ah, yes, I remember some now.' And he winced slightly as images of Galbatorix teaching him magic came to mind. But as much as he tried to repress them, they continued to come.

The images danced off off of his eyelids. There was Galbatorix demanding that he perform a magical endeavor, and when he performed it less than expected or less than to Galbatorix's satisfaction, Galbatorix would slap him and torture him. "Lazy!" he would hiss before he barked, "Do it again!"

He hadn't realized he was painfully gripping the edge of the table until the memories stopped, and as he massaged the sore muscles in his hands he tried to get his breathing under control once more.

Then he was ready to try again. 'Think,' he whispered in his mind. 'The rules of magic. What are they? Ah.'

And some long forgotten lessons flashed before his mind, even more hazy this time. Why was it that every memory that strongly spoke of learning magic was so hazy? That was, all except for the king's torture of him, and he winced at that. But those memories didn't as easily come to mind because he would purposefully lock them away and try to forget them, painful as they were.

'The rules of magic,' he finally thought and began reciting them as he remembered them. 'Distance affects magic. You can't use more energy than you have, or you die. The amount of energy needed to perform a feat is relative to how much energy it takes to do it manually. You are limited by your knowledge of the ancient language, your creativity, and something else I can't remember.'

An image of a red dragon flashed in his mind, as well as an image of his gedwey ignasia, and with a smile he remembered one other fundamental detail. 'A dragon rider's magic comes from his dragon. And a dragon and rider are always stronger together.'

But an instant later he frowned. That meant because he was separated from Thorn that he would be weaker because he couldn't call upon his dragon's strength.

However he would have to find a way. Besides, this was only a test run, to see if he could remember how to use magic. 'Use it sparingly,' he thought to himself, after all, it was his secret weapon.

As he opened his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to feel the magic in him, which he was having a hard time doing. He stared at the dreaded newspapers. Much as he needed to figure out the secrets behind them, he hated them, so he didn't regret it when he whispered, "Brisingr!"

Nothing happened. Murtagh frowned. "Brisingr!" he whispered with more force, and once more, nothing happened. Angry and growling he took his pen and tossed it at the wall with such force that it broke and scattered ink all over the wall.

He groaned. "Why can't I use magic?" he whispered to himself as he leaned back and closed his eyes. And the image of a young elf came to mind. _**Arya**_. His mind told him the name. And an image of her beaten to near death came to mind.

Then came the memory of him asking Eragon after the rider war why Arya hadn't tried to escape from Gil'ead with magic. "Because," Eragon explained. "She was drugged. She couldn't use magic, the drugs prevented it."

Murtagh groaned in realization. "I'm drugged," he whispered, staring up at the ceiling, and as he thought on it, he realized they must have put it in his food. That and the hospital staff in Maine, at least some of them, must have been in on this whole ruse. That was the only explanation he could give.

And he growled in frustration some. They had done their homework well. And now that meant he was without a vital weapon that he could use to escape.

Doing his best to calm down, he opened the drawer to his study desk and pulled out another ink pen, tapping it impatiently against the desk. And he was mad. He was now back to square one where the only thing he could do was try to piece together the clues and hope that they gave him some much needed answers as to what was going on and why he was here.

He read down the newspaper quietly. The one in front of him was dealing with the supposed death of his five year old brother when he was only seven years old. He read the title once more: _Boy Drowned By Parents, Remaining Child In Custody_. And he pursed his lips at that.

Morzan may have done such a thing, but Selena never would. She valued him to much, after all she was abused by him to. And she had risked everything to get Eragon, her youngest son and Murtagh's half brother, to family where she knew he would be cared for. Perhaps she had been planning to come for him to, but fate had dictated that she was to die and he was to be left to the care of a deranged king.

As he thought of his half brother, his thoughts drifted to Brom and he wondered why the man had never come to rescue him from Uru'baen when he was a kid. It would have saved Murtagh a lot of trouble. And didn't Brom say he cared about Selena? If so, why would he leave her eldest child to live in such a hostile environment where he had very few friends growing up?

Didn't he have a right to grow up with his family? Garrow may have been poor, but at least he was family and would have cared for Murtagh, even with his heritage. He would have cherished him as he had cherished Eragon. Or did Brom hate him? Or perhaps, was this a way for him to get revenge on Morzan?

'Some revenge,' Murtagh bitterly thought. 'Morzan wouldn't have cared one way or another. He hated me. He didn't care what happened to me either way. After all, he willingly threw a sword at me.'

Shaking his head to get the distracted and disturbing thoughts out of his head, he skimmed the article once more, frowning. It seemed like an ordinary article. And so he examined the pictures. While he didn't know how to tell if they were doctored or made up, he couldn't discount it as a possibility.

And his head tilted in curiosity. 'Doctored?' he thought to himself. 'Made up? Where have I heard those words before? Where have I heard those terms before?'

And he shook his head once more as looked once more at the article. He was getting more questions than answers. But perhaps questions were good. By questioning things he could resist these people and stay sane. Hopefully.

He sighed and put the newspaper down. It was time to examine the more gruesome articles. So, with a shiver, he picked up the article showing him being beaten by Commemorate supporters. His eyes wandered the picture looking for evidence that it was doctored. He needed a sign, anything, that these articles were fake and were made to brainwash him.

But he saw nothing, no matter how hard he studied it. So once more, he read the title: _**Commemorate**__ Beats __**Speak Up**__ Activist to Near Deat__h_. And he frowned once more as he read the article and found nothing that he could use against these people holding him here.

In all honesty, he never remembered anything about these events that they'd claimed had occurred. And yet here the article was. But surely if this had happened, he would have remembered it, right?

'And I know that I don't have amnesia,' he concluded. His memories of Alagaesia were evidence of that. 'Or, at least I don't have wide scale amnesia. I still know who I am. But there are large portions of my memory missing, and that _**does**_ disturb me.'

A sigh escaped him as he put the newspaper article down, rubbing his temples. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, and he didn't even remember where he'd heard that foreign idiom from.

Opening an eye and glancing at the newspaper once again, he threw it towards the back of the desk where it crumpled beside the wall. "Perhaps I'm thinking about this the wrong way," he whispered and rubbed his forehead with a single hand in stress once more. As he leaned back in his chair, he accidentally leaned back to far, and with a brief cry he fell to the floor.

Stiffly getting up, he rubbed his arms and back where he had fallen and then wandered back to his bed. He collapsed on it, wincing as it hurt his sore back, and he glared up at the ceiling. "Think," he whispered to himself, desperate for something at this point. "What do I remember?"

And so he took the time to review the events in his mind as he remembered them. Though he couldn't quite remember why anymore, he had been eager to fly with Thorn that day. But it was as if there was an incentive and a reason behind it. And, with a grimace, he realized that that was another portion of his memory that was missing. And as he thought things through he wouldn't be surprised if he discovered more gaps in his memory and more hazy and less-than-clear memories.

But he remembered flying with his dragon. They were doing stunts that day, as it was a stress reliever for both of them. But as he remembered ten minutes of flying and his muscles finally relaxing, he couldn't remember anything else after that.

There was a large memory gap. Then he remembered being in and out of consciousness in the Main hospital, those memories blurry. And then he remembered waking up and the confusion that those incidents had caused.

He frowned. There was a large gap in his memory, that was for sure. But what puzzled him was he didn't know how large it was. It could have been two weeks or two months. It could also have been a few hundred years for all he knew.

What he did know and just barely remembered now was that as a dragon rider he was immortal and unaging. He would look the same forever, except for looking more elf like which would stop after a few decades.

As that forgotten thought occurred to him he felt his ears and with puzzlement he noticed how round they felt. When he had gone flying with Thorn for the last time his ears had been fairly pointy. And now they were round. That didn't make sense.

"How," he whispered and folded his hands across his chest as he pondered this, his eyes towards the ceiling. Why wasn't he elf like anymore? After all, when he had looked at his reflection in the morning he remembered that his eyes weren't slanted anymore and his ears weren't pointed.

He hadn't thought of it then because he hadn't remembered it then, and he'd had a lot more concerning things on his mind. But now that he did remember, it disturbed him. And it was one more evidence that he couldn't use to support his case anymore.

Even more disconcerting was that made him wonder what that meant. Did that mean that his bond with Thorn was no longer? Did that mean he was no longer immortal? And Thorn would be immortal even if he died, not that the immortal dragons lived longer than their riders due to their grief driving them to insanity and death.

But, if there was anything he didn't want, it was him growing old and dying while Thorn continued to live without him.

"I miss you," he whispered to his dragon even though he knew Thorn wasn't there. "I'll find a way back to you, I promise." How, he didn't know, but he would.

Murtagh took a deep breath in and huffed, closing his eyes, trying to relax. Perhaps more would come to him if he wasn't so stressed. Perhaps that was why he wasn't remembering so much?

"I have large amount of my memory missing," Murtagh numbered off, trying to list what he knew. "I could have been here for any amount of time. Two weeks, two months, two years, a hundred and twenty years, it doesn't matter. But I may have been here longer than I know how to calculate." That was point one, and he opened his eyes, willing himself to remain relaxed.

"Number two," he counted off, though he couldn't help but suppress a shiver at this. "Everything that shows that I'm a dragon rider is missing. There's no gedwey ignasia, and my ears are round once more. My eyes are no longer slanted, but their human looking."

He frowned slightly, continuing to talk to himself. "I know of no drug that can suppress a dragon rider's looks. But I know of _**magic**_ that can alter looks."

And that led him to his next problem. "I can't use magic: number three. I'm being drugged. But surely I should know if people are using magic on me? Surely I could sense it? I remember sensing it when the twins used magic on me when they kidnapped me."

He shuddered at that thought and memory. Then he refocused once more. "But I don't sense them using magic on me right now. In fact, no one believes in magic. They believe it's something make believe. So how then do I look how I am?"

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. It was mind boggling.

'But,' his mind told him suddenly, and he shivered as his mind continued. 'There is another possibility which has already presented itself. Alagaesia isn't real, and dragons aren't real. Everything was made up. Everything was a result of hallucinations from mental illness.'

"No," Murtagh told the voice in his head, and he didn't believe the voice one bit. "That is _**not**_ a possibility. Alagaeisa is real. My dragon is real. My friends and family are all real. I _**am**_ a dragon rider." So with great effort, he shoved the thought that he wasn't even going to consider away.

But that left him with another dilemma. What was going on then?

He didn't have time to answer that thought for a voice rang out, "All right! Quiet time's up!" And in that instant he knew he would have no choice but to leave the room. If he didn't, they'd force him out anyways. And with a grimace he realized that that was partly how they kept an eye on their patients. So, reluctantly, he rolled out the bed and made for the door while he rubbed his sore back.

As he made his way into the hallway he saw that others were coming out of the hallway. There were twelve men and nine women in this "unit" as they called it. And they were all congregating towards the common area where he had noticed them before when he was leaving for his appointment.

As he nervously glanced around some of the men came up to him. Two of the closest then approached him, one a male with dark skin and brown eyes and was very tall. The other was much shorter with brown hair and green eyes, only reaching the other man's shoulders.

They were wearing hospital outfits like he was and they seemed laid back as they approached him. The two also seemed like really good friends the way they were chatting amiably back and forth.

As they caught up to him, the smaller of the two put his arms around him, much to Murtagh's discomfort. "Hey!" he greeted. "You're new here! You've gotta be! I haven't seen you here yet!"

Murtagh said nothing, doing his best to ignore the man. But the man wouldn't be ignored. "I'm Michael," the taller male said in a low, booming voice. "But everyone calls me Big Mike!" No doubt because he was so tall.

"Nice to meet you," Murtagh warily replied, and he was careful not to trust at this point. For all he knew, all these so called patients were in on this ruse. He didn't want to end up giving out anything that his enemies could use against him. So he chose to be a man of few words.

"And I'm Jordan! Jordan J, though people usually call me JJ!" And with that he shook Murtagh a little, rattling the younger rider's bones. He was surprised the small man could do that with that much strength, considering his stature. Then again Murtagh remembered that looks could be deceiving, and with a wince he remembered that Galbatorix was a perfect example of that.

"Nice to meet you to," Murtagh replied courteously as they continued walking to the commons. Others were passing them by because of how slow they were walking.

The taller guy chuckled. "Yeah, we feel like we're brothers. You know what I'm saying? JJ and I here are so close that it was as if we were born to the same mother and father even though we're not blood related. Ever had a friend that close?"

Sadness closed onto the red rider. "Can't say that I have," he murmured softly, looking down. 'Though I've had a brother who felt like that to me, then I realized that we were related. And then there was Tornac who was more like a father to me.'

But despite his down trodden expression, they didn't seem to notice it. The smaller guy was chatting again. "It's funny, really," he shook Murtagh again, and Murtagh rubbed his shoulder which was hurting from that. "They call the two of us Michael Jordan together because of how close we are. Get it? As in the individual, the basket ball player Michael Jordan?"

"That's how close we are!" Big Mike summed up cheerily, and by this point they had reached the commons. Murtagh looked around once more. There were many desks scattered abroad and the patients were playing games there, sometimes with nurses and other staff. And then there were a series of couches that lined the walls and a group of girls were sitting there, chatting up a storm.

Big Mike led them to the couch and they sat down, Murtagh staring off in the distance. "So," JJ asked, eager to get a conversation going. "What's your name?"

"Murtagh," the red rider responded immediately, and JJ smiled. That was until a nurse with red hair and gray eyes walked up, a serious and disappointed expression on her face.

"There's no need to lie," she chastised Murtagh lightly. "Now tell them your real name."

Murtagh clenched his fists in anger. Oh, how he hated this place already! "Murtagh is my real name," he ground out and glared at her and she sighed softly.

"His name is Joshua," she informed the duo known together as Michael Jordan. "And he suffers from hallucinations. He thinks his name is Murtagh but it's not."

Anger filled Murtagh at this, but he refused to comment. JJ and Big Mike looked at him sadly. "Oh," JJ sympathetically replied, giving a curious stare at Murtagh. "That's too bad."

"It is," the nurse sadly mused, as if it were a pity. "He can't even remember his own name."

And Murtagh couldn't help but stand up and walk right up to her, getting into her personal space. She didn't even flinch. "You may have everyone else fooled," he hissed at her. "But you don't have me fooled! I will _**never**_ be brainwashed by the likes of you!" And with that he pushed roughly past her, ignoring the stares he was getting, both from the other patients and from the staff.

As he sat down on the floor in the far corner of the common room the nurse ignored him and announced, "All right! Everyone back to their activities!" And everyone began again as if they hadn't been interrupted, though several patients would throw him glances every once in a while.

Murtagh half expected to be left alone, and he wanted to be left alone as well. But he should have known by now that that wouldn't happen. As he was sitting there, wishing for a solitary confine in the common room, Michael Jordan walked up to him and the two of them sat beside him on either side.

At first he tried to ignore them, even as they sandwiched him in the middle, the two of them each placing one arm around his shoulders as if giving him a hug. And Murtagh didn't like that. 'Don't these two know about personal space?' he growled in his mind, but he did nothing to stop their actions.

"It's all right," JJ finally consoled him. "We know that life here can be difficult. We've been there. But that's what friends are for. They help you through things."

At the comment, Murtagh couldn't help but scoff. "Friends?" he incredulously cried out. "You know nothing about me! How could we be friends?"

"But we don't need to be friends to be friendly," Big Mike pointed out, and Murtagh couldn't help but agree with that. Eragon had been friendly to him when they first met, but he'd wondered for a while if that was because Murtagh had rescued him.

Murtagh finally sighed, relaxing some. "Okay," he grumbled out. "I guess I can give friendship with the two of you a try." And he didn't miss their elated expressions.

"All right!" Big Mike ground out, while JJ cheerily replied, "And don't worry about the nurses and other staff. We were all in the same boat when we arrived here. We too were tense and angry. But it gets better as time goes on. And you'll soon see that they're just doing their job. They can be friendly. They just want to help you."

"I highly doubt that," Murtagh scoffed, though he couldn't help but be cautious at hearing them say that. It made him wonder if they were in on this whole ruse.

Silence reigned between them, and Murtagh shifted uncomfortably, throwing their arms off him. They didn't try to put their arms around him again, for which he was grateful for. He wasn't too fond of having people in his personal space, especially after his horrid experiences with Galbatorix.

And as the silence continued, Murtagh couldn't help but start the conversation back up. "So," he began, not sure if he should really ask. After all, it wasn't really his business... "What are the two of you here for? How did you end up in this deranged place?"

A distant look entered both of their eyes, and as their eyes hazed over he couldn't help but notice the confusion in their faces.

JJ frowned. "I don't know. I don't... remember."

**All right, so that's chapter one.**

**Please read and review! Reviewing is a courtesy!**

**Firestar'sniece**


	2. Chapter 2: Resistance and Learning

**I don't own Inheritance Cycle.**

**Alright, so I'd like to thank Restrained. Freedom for leaving that review on my first chapter! Thanks! I'm happy that it was interesting!**

**Hopefully, this chapter and the subsequent chapters will keep you entertained and on the edge of your seat. I have a fairly good idea of where I'm taking this, as well as a possible sequel. I'm thinking of splitting this story in two instead of leaving it as one big one. **

**That and the first few chapters are already planned out. All I have to do is write them out.**

**So, hopefully this part of the story lives up to expectations.**

Chapter Two: Resistance and Learning

(Murtagh Point of View)

Murtagh hated this place. Godfrey's mental hospital had to be one of the worst places, outside of Galbatorix's torture chambers and dungeons, as far as he was concerned. As he sighed, turning over and looking at a lone clock on the desk far away, he couldn't help but be restless even though he should be sleeping.

However, even as the door creaked open slightly, a face peeking through, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He hated how the staff checked on the patients like this as if they were children.

When the door shut again he opened his eyes and turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. Though it was dark, if he wanted he could make out the shapes on the camouflage pajamas that he wore. It was currently 6:45 am, and soon he would have to wake up to start another day in this deranged place.

He didn't know how he was going to continue to resist, and that worried him. Though he had only been here for one day, he felt a drain like no other on his mental strength, and he deeply suspected that he had indeed been in a mental hospital of some sort before.

While he deeply needed to get to the bottom of what was going on, he couldn't help but be frightened a bit at the prospect of staying for a prolonged length of time. Even when Galbatorix beat on his mind, he had only been able to last so long. And the man could sometimes be impatient. So how was he going to withstand this large group intent on brainwashing him when they were very patient?

Before the fear could get anywhere, he swallowed and resorted to reason, the only thing that he had left. Something about JJ's response the other day had left him puzzled, and he thought perhaps it might be a clue as to what was going on.

"I don't know. I don't... remember," JJ had said when Murtagh had asked him about his experiences leading to his placement in the mental hospital. And even Big Mike had been wary to answer, like he didn't even really know anymore. All they knew was that they had been angry and upset when they first arrived, though they no longer remembered why.

And they had automatically assumed that they had been in the wrong in some sort of way.

This made Murtagh begin to believe that maybe the patients weren't in on this whole ruse at all. Maybe they were victims themselves, and had succumbed to the brainwashing after having been here for so long.

And if that was the case Murtagh shuddered to think of what would become of him. With time, was it possible that Murtagh would think like the rest of them and would be willing to consider his enemies his friends? He hoped not.

A glance at the clock that they had placed in his room the previous night told him that he had ten minutes until it was time to wake up. But the alarm clock on Murtagh's clock beeped indicating the time that he wanted to wake up. He'd chosen to wake up ten minutes before the others because he'd wanted more time to establish his own routine in this horrid place, not the routine they had outlined for him.

It was a small rebellion, he thought, but to his frustration they seemed to have no problem with it.

Getting up, he went and slapped on the clock, his eyes closed as he had stumbled over, blind from sleep, and as the thing continued to beep, Murtagh resorted to hitting it. Finally he yanked it and chucked it over his head, sending the thing crashing to the ground, the cord finally yanking out of the socket. He left it strewn out of the floor, hardly caring about damaging hospital property. They could always get him another one. A small rebellion.

Finally, he walked over the closet, using his foot to swipe the electric and digital clock away another two feet, and he opened the closet door with a bang. Then, choosing his clothes, plain old hospital clothes, he went and got dressed in the bathroom before brushing his teeth and combing his hair.

He heard it when they opened the door to his room, barging in in his opinion. But a moment later there was an angry knock on the bathroom door. "Joshua!" a male nurse called out, and he was upset. At that, Murtagh couldn't help but chuckle. He knew what the man was angry about. "Do you care to explain this?" he called out and Murtagh opened the bathroom door, fully dressed.

As he stepped out, he glanced at the clock whose innards were strewn about, and he shrugged as if it were nothing. "The clock wouldn't stop beeping," he matter of factually stated as if that would explain why it was there in it's damaged state.

The nurse, who was slightly tan and muscular with gray eyes narrowed his eyes at him. Then, as if he thought there was nothing he could do about the situation in the immediate, he demanded, "I need to take your pulse."

Murtagh folded his arms, refusing. "And if I say no?" he challenged at which the man bit his lip in anger, glaring at him. The folder that he held in his hands, Murtagh's medical file, he slammed down on Murtagh's desk. "If you won't cooperate you'll go to time out!"

"Like a little kid?" Murtagh sneered, in no mood already. "I don't think so!" And at that he went over and sat on his bed, sending a challenging glare back.

As the man continued to get angry at him, to Murtagh's amusement, the door opened again, and the nurse from the previous day who had insisted his name was Joshua to big Mike and JJ stepped in. To Murtagh's frustration she was there to help alleviate the tensions between them. He hated meddling. He wanted nothing more than to spite the people here for what they were doing to him.

The woman smiled kindly at both the nurse and him, without so much as glancing at the broken clock on the ground. "Go on, I'll take care of his vitals," she told her comrade and the nurse immediately stalked out, mumbling as he went.

When the man was gone, the nurse, Angie, walked over, extending her hand. "May I?" she inquired and Murtagh looked away, not about to have her take his pulse.

"No you may not," he stated firmly and ignored her as she sighed.

At this, she knelt next to him, a small frown on her face. "Joshua," she gently warned and Murtagh's eyes snapped back to her angrily.

"It's Murtagh!" he snapped back. She didn't answer. Instead she gazed back compassionately.

"Don't make this any harder," she pled and only then did her eyes wander over to the broken clock. To Murtagh's surprise there was amusement in her gaze. "You know you're going to be in trouble for that." And Murtagh couldn't help but chuckle, nodding. "So why did you do it?" she asked.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "I think it's obvious," he stated, and the woman folded her arms, though there was still slight amusement in her expression. For someone who was trying to discipline him and train him to "behave better", that amusement in her grin not only seemed out of place, but inappropriate also. It made Murtagh wonder why she was acting that way.

He didn't spend time dwelling on it though. Sighing, giving in for once, he held out his wrist to her and she took it gratefully. He didn't know why he was cooperating all of a sudden. All he knew was that his desire to rebel had diminished slightly.

He supposed it was because he had either had his fill of rebellions for the day, or at the very least the moment, or he was subconsciously wary of what was to come due to the incident with the broken clock.

When she was done counting, she went over to the medical record to write down his pulse. But when Murtagh wandered over to take a look at his medical record, to his surprise she wouldn't let him see it, but moved it up and out of his sight, closing it.

"I suppose I'll save you the trouble of having your temperature taken," she dryly informed him and Murtagh couldn't help but be relieved. He hated being a lab rat. "I highly doubt you have a fever."

After this she opened the door and motioned him out. As of last night they hadn't bothered to lock it, he had found out, but instead he found that there were staff outside, so it wasn't as if escape would be plausible at the moment. And so, he was forced to endure all of this for now until he could figure out a more suitable plan. But he had no intention of staying here.

While this place was not an army, it certainly did have order here. Murtagh found people in the commons area and found that he was the last patient out. Some of the patients were hungry and impatient and Murtagh guessed that his clock incident combined with his refusal to have his vitals taken had held everyone back, despite the fact that he had woken up before anyone else undoubtedly.

Immediately, Angie clapped her hands. "All right, line up!" And in the door that was opposite Murtagh everyone began lining up on the right side, right before the little white box that only accepted the ID cards of the staff that worked here to open the door.

Grumbling, Murtagh went towards the end of line, not minding that he was last. Curiously enough, both Big Mike and JJ turned around, both sending him a silent wave from further up the line. Murtagh warily waved back in a small and almost unnoticeable manner. He was truly touched at their attempts to include him now that he had time to think things over.

Silently, now that everyone was in place, the male nurse that Murtagh had caused problems for let his card open the door and they were out, single file, some of the staff in front and some behind. And it was during this time that Murtagh took time to look at his surroundings, putting a curious look on his face in an attempt to ward off suspicion.

But his real reason for looking around was to try to find weaknesses in this place. He was desperate for _**anything**_ that could help him escape.

Not much caught his attention. He did notice a few windows, but somehow the word bulletproof entered his mind and he knew that escaping through them would be next to impossible. As they wandered the corners to the kitchen and buffet line, it occurred to Murtagh that his only hope of escape might be if he were somehow outside. While there would be no doubt a fence to climb, other than that if he could climb it then he was home free.

Getting outside was another problem altogether. But as he entered the kitchen and got his food from the serving staff, he decided to put his friendship with Big Mike and Jordan to use. Maybe there was some sort of information they could give him that would help him out?

'That is as long as I don't make it obvious,' Murtagh thought and nearly visibly winced. He quickly located Big Mike and Jordan at one of the tables. Amongst the table were a couple of girls and another guy, all of whom seemed to be good friends if the way they were busy chatting was anything to go by. And he was fortunate enough to find another chair by them.

Bringing his tray over, he stood by the seat, waiting to gain permission to sit by them. When Michael Jordan saw him, they were excited. "Sit down! Sit down!" JJ invited, and Murtagh easily accepted the invitation.

"Ah!" the other male that Murtagh didn't know sighed contentedly. "Sloppy joe day!" And Murtagh glanced down at his own sloppy joe burger, distaste in his expression.

"Go on!" Big Mike encouraged with a smile in his low, friendly voice. How he and JJ were enthusiastic all the time, Murtagh had no clue. "Try it! You never know, maybe you'll like it!"

"I doubt that," Murtagh scoffed slightly, but none the less tried it. To his surprise it was really good, not that he would admit it. "It's okay," he replied with food in his mouth, throwing courtesy and manners out the window in that moment. He didn't really care even though he was raised high born.

As he looked around the group he cast a questioning glance at Big Mike and Jordan. Upon his eyes twitching to the people he didn't know at the table and back to him, he got the message.

"Oh!" JJ replied. And then he began to introduce everybody as Murtagh took another bite and chewed his sloppy joe. "These are Lucy and Elizabeth, or Lizzie as we call her," He introduced the women first. Then he turned to the only other male in the group, the one he didn't know. "And this is Trevor."

Murtagh waved to the brown, wavy haired woman, Lucy. Her hair, pulled back in a bun, made her already round face seem more round, and her brown Asian eyes seemed friendly enough.

Then he waved slightly at Lizzie, the medium length haired woman with half it pulled back in butterfly clip. Her eyes were green and she had a longer nose than most, but her chin was pointed softly, femininely. She seemed the older of the two women.

However, he didn't wave to Trevor, the buzz cut, lean muscled man who looked like he loved to lift weights. His lean and narrow muscles bulged slightly as he dug into his burger and his brown eyes didn't even regard Murtagh; they were focused intensely on eating. He seemed the tough type, but Murtagh could see behind the demeanor to a lonely soul who had gone through a lot in life, much like him.

Lizzie waved a hand in greeting back. "What's up?" she asked and Murtagh found himself without anything to say, nervous for once.

"Um, nothing?" he finally managed to respond, then he ignored the group as he tried to find a way to address the subject he wanted without suspicion. Thank goodness no staff were sitting at their table. "So, sloppy joes for breakfast?" he finally inquired just as a way to break ground.

The group chuckled a little. "Yeah, a little tradition here every once in a while," Lucy piped up, and she had an emotional alto voice. "I know it's weird, but it's us!"

"Hey, I'm not complaining!" Trevor said between bites as he chewed and Lizzie chuckled.

"Of course not! You're a guy!" Lizzie bantered back in some humor as if it explained men.

"Yeah!" Lucy piped up in a gee no duh tone. "Men will eat anything!"

"Hey!" Murtagh and the rest of the men at the table, including Michael Jordan angrily chipped up and the girls chuckled some.

"Whatever, you know it's true," Lizzie responded, and she smirked some. None of the guys decided to discuss food after that, as it had taken a toll on their pride, but even Murtagh admitted in his mind that it was true, even though he would never admit it aloud.

The mood lightened after that and Murtagh found himself relaxing for once in this horrid place, getting comfortable with the people around him. And to his surprise he found a friendship forming with all of them. It was too bad he was going to be leaving them behind soon...

"So," Murtagh decided to broach the subject as gently and lightly as possible. "It seems rather disheartening that we have to stay cooped up in here all day..." And he let the sentence stray off some, leaving the subject open in case anyone had anything to say.

"Well," not all the time," Lucy pointed out, and Murtagh had to suppress some excitement in him lest he give anything away. "After all, we do get to go out sometimes."

"Really?" Murtagh challenged in an unbelieving tone, hoping he could manipulate the conversation and steer it to get the answers he wanted.

"Yes, well levels three through five go out on outings weekly. Or at least levels four through five do," Lizzie explained and when Murtagh raised an eyebrow she decided to expand. "You see, when you have good behavior you can move up a level. With it comes greater privileges. Level five is the highest, and usually after you're on level five for a bit, if you're able to maintain it they discharge you."

"Ah," Murtagh nodded. 'So it's how much your brainwashed that determines your level.'

"But level threes get to go out every couple of weeks with the level fours and fives," Lucy pitched in and Murtagh saw that her tray was pushed away for she was done eating. Not everyone at their table was done eating though, and as he glanced around he saw many eating and realized that he had time to keep up this conversation. 'She must be a fast eater,' he thought.

"And the rest of us are stuck here the rest of the time?" Murtagh bitterly asked, pushing the rest of his food away. He highly suspected it was drugged anyways, and he didn't want to eat more than was necessary for nourishment. Especially not if he was going to try escaping.

"Not necessarily," Big Mike pitched in. "There are group outings, but those usually have to do with group therapies and other things."

"Group therapies?" Murtagh puzzled out loud. He'd somehow known that they were probably going to brainwash him one on one, but he'd never thought that he'd have to endure it in a group format. That made him wonder how on earth they could have success with a large group all at once. Surely people weren't that blind to where they couldn't stand up for themselves?

"Yes," Lizzie took the initiative to explained. "Most of them take place here, but occasionally we go out and do things as group activities."

"Like what?" Murtagh asked.

"Oh, trust activities," Lucy pitched in and flipped her hair somewhat as she tried to scratch her neck. "Not sure how to explain it. You'll have to participate in one before it's clear."

Murtagh nodded. "Ah," was all he commented, but then Trevor pitched in, "We sometimes walk in the gardens here. And then if you notice that door that's locked on the far side of the room?" He pointed to the door Murtagh had first noticed. He'd thought that it led to another part of the building, but now he was seeing that he was wrong about that.

"That leads to the outside dining area. We go there in the summer to dine. It's walled off with bricks, which is good because it's next to a busy street, and we don't like people staring at us, but you can still hear the cars passing by."

A sigh escaped Murtagh and he leaned back. "What about these gardens?" he asked casually. "Are they indoor or outdoor gardens."

"Outdoor, but they're walled off with a fence," JJ frowned and Murtagh realized that his questions must have been suspicious, so he stopped asking.

"So," he finally concluded. "No fresh air except in the summer. That's too bad. But level threes, fours, and fives have regular outings."

They all nodded. "That pretty much sums it up," Trevor concluded and Murtagh put his head in his hands, stressed and frustrated.

"I want out of here so bad," he whispered and JJ, who was right next to him, put a calming hand on his shoulder. For once Murtagh didn't mind JJ in his personal space.

"Don't worry," JJ reassured him. "It won't be long before you go on outings. You'll see."

Murtagh lowered his hands and gave JJ a "seriously" look. "And dogs will chirp like chickens," he responded, somewhat sourly. But he regretted it an instant later and gave an apologetic look.

They all sensed the tension and fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well," Big Mike lightly tried to say, but his voice made the seriousness of what he had to say come across as well. "You're not going to have to wait for a group outing for that long."

At this, Murtagh perked up some. "Really?" he asked, almost disbelieving from his excitement.

"Really," Lizzie seriously responded, and her tone made Murtagh wary. He remembered what she'd said about group therapies. Maybe this was one of those?

He decided to voice it. "One of those group therapies?" he asked and they all shook their heads. That left him puzzled and confused.

"No," Lucy said, drawing with her finger on the table. "It's that time of the year again."

"Time of the year?" Murtagh inquired further as his muscles tensed. He didn't like how they were beating about the rose bush and it made him worried about what was in store for them.

As they tensed, Trevor chuckled some. "Hey, don't get him all worried, it's not that bad!" Trevor tried to lighten the mood, but everyone heard his nervous apprehension in his voice.

At that moment Murtagh decided that he'd rather know than remain in the dark. "Why? What's going to happen?" he asked and they all glanced at one another, almost as if they weren't sure if they should say anything. But at Murtagh's desperate expression, they gave in.

"Well," Lucy began, scratching her head again, looking away as she spoke. "It happens every three months, four times a year that is. They organize the various units and take us, one unit at a time, to other places, usually universities. There are a few other places, but the top two are local universities and the other places are private facilities that are privately funded, as far as I can tell."

"And what happens there?" Murtagh asked, clenching the table so tightly his muscles were sore.

They all sighed, like they didn't like it. "They study us," Trevor pitched in, and dread filled Murtagh. 'So we become lab rats,' Murtagh concluded uncomfortably with curiosity as to where he had heard that term before. There were many terms he'd used but couldn't remember where he'd heard them, but they felt foreign to him, like it wasn't from Alagaesia or his culture.

But Lizzie added more. And she looked him directly in the eye, as she spoke, conveying the seriousness of her message. "They say it's to help us, and that we have a choice but we really don't. You didn't hear that from me. Basically they try out their new mental treatment protocols on the patients to see if they can"cure" them faster. They call it Activity Trip."

"Liz!" Lucy suddenly exclaimed, and Murtagh was surprised at her defensive manner. "Don't say that! You know that we have a choice!"

Lizzie scoffed. "Well I don't know about you, but the decision between time out and being caged until we cooperate or cooperating off the bat isn't much of a decision to me."

"You mean we can't say no?" Murtagh frowned.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Of course you can say no!"

"With consequences," Lizzie added darkly, and Murtagh couldn't help but notice that her comments met the silent agreement of all at the table except Lucy, though none of them would admit that.

"And that is why I'm level three and you're not!" Lucy concluded with a cheer, taking a bit of some potato smiles. "Besides, the doctors want us actively engaged in our own treatment!"

'And you've been completely brainwashed,' Murtagh thought, giving her a piteous stare.

Awkward silence ensued once again. "So we go out for Activity Trip soon," Murtagh concluded and the others nodded, most of them solemnly. But there was something about this that Murtagh just didn't like. His gut knew it, and he knew that he was going to have to find a chance to escape soon, before he was subjected to "Activity Trip".

"It's overnight for most of us," Lucy explained. "But some from each level, those whom the doctors determine, they stay for about a week before coming back."

Murtagh didn't like the sound of that. "And how soon is this trip?" he inquired worriedly.

"In one and a half weeks," Trevor replied. Murtagh froze at this. 'I definitely need to find a way out soon,' he concluded and he paled slightly at the mention of how soon it was.

As he paled JJ patted him softly. "It'll be all right," he reassured him, trying to comfort him. "You'll see. There's nothing to worry about." But Murtagh couldn't help but notice how tense everyone seemed.

As he deemed it was time to change the subject to avoid the dread everyone was facing, Murtagh decided to ask a question that he had thought about the previous night. "So," he began, not sure how to phrase it to where they wouldn't take offense. He didn't want to get on the bad side of any of his new friends. "What are you all here for? What did they take you here for?"

They all immediately fidgeted uncomfortably. "Joshua," Lucy began and Murtagh frowned.

"It's _**Murtagh**_," he emphasized strongly, but she ignored him and continued to address him.

"Look," Lucy rolled her eyes at his antics. "There's something called patient privacy. You can't just go around asking those kinds of questions!"

But that wasn't what Murtagh was after. He was trying to test a theory he had formed after seeing JJ and Big Mike's reaction when he had asked the first time. "But you do know what you're here for, right?" he inquired further and once more they fidgeted.

"Yes," Lizzie trailed off warily and Big Mike glanced at JJ.

"But can you remember specifics?" And Murtagh knew he was pushing his luck. "Like, do you remember when they brought you here? Do you remember how you came here?"

Their eyes all became unfocused once more. "I can't really remember specifics," Lucy finally admitted. "I only remember being angry." And she brought herself to the present once more. "But that's not the point. The here and now is the point. The bottom line is I know what I'm being treated for."

"Or what they told you your being treated for," Murtagh dryly added and she glared at him somewhat. At that, Murtagh decided to try a different way. "But do you remember your life before hand? Especially the specifics of what led to you being brought here?"

Lucy was uncomfortable, and she began drawing on the table with her finger again. She was silent for a long while and Trevor was trying hard not to listen in, like it was a taboo subject. "No," she finally admitted after a long moment. "I don't really remember the specifics. In fact, I can't really remember at all." Then she looked up. "But I remember some of my life before coming here, not all."

"Amnesia?" Murtagh inquired quietly. And at her reluctance his suspicions were confirmed even though she said nothing.

And at that moment, Trevor decided to participate again. "Look," he pitched in. "It's not what you think. They're trying to help us! See, a lot of us are here and placed in this unit because we're going through similar things, amnesia, hallucinations, and what not."

But that didn't reassure Murtagh. "However most everyone forgets the details of the time before they come here?" he challenged. And no one could answer that.

JJ was the one who spoke next. "You know, we were all suspicious like you were once," he explained and Murtagh looked away, mad. "We know what you're going through and what you're doing. You're in denial that you need help and that these people are here to help you. _**We understand**_."

'And somehow they've lost the will to fight,' Murtagh couldn't help but think. But he realized at that moment that he couldn't risk revealing anymore, not if he was going to escape. These people were far too gone, far too brainwashed to see reason at the moment, and in their brainwashed state they'd turn on him. 'Just like I once turned on Eragon,' he thought sadly.

"There's nothing evil about them!" Lucy tried to convince him and Murtagh sighed, not trying to listen in. "They're here to help us!"

"And pigs fly," Murtagh muttered, once again confused how he knew that foreign phrase.

But there was no use fighting. It was a pointless battle. Who knows, after his escape he could find help and free them? But who would help him when they found out that he'd escaped from a mental hospital? After all, he still remembered his pleadings when he was at Maine hospital in Boston. Was he even still in Boston? But he'd worry about that later.

And then there was the question of how he'd get home. He knew that Eragon would help these people if he could reach them, but that meant he would have to go back to Alagaesia. But how was he going to go back to Alagaesia, and especially without magic? That he didn't know.

He didn't have time to muse though, for Angie had clapped her hands. "Breakfast time's over," she announced and everyone went to a window in the kitchen, dumping the remnants of their food in the trash besides the window. Then they placed their silverware in a tub filled with soapy water and they stacked their trays on the metal counter.

As everyone lined up, Murtagh couldn't help but worry. Time was running out for him.

(A couple hours later)

(Murtagh Point of View)

Murtagh groaned as they all sat down in a circular seating arrangement in a conference room. Though they sat with no table in front of them, Murtagh had no doubt that it would be just as much torture some as if they had to fill out worksheets.

The large double doors closed behind him with a soft thud as the last of the patients filed in, and Murtagh looked behind him. The male nurse was taking a seat in one of the folding chairs. And as the female nurse stared at him, and he saw that the rest of the patients had sat down, he realized that he was holding everyone else up.

But the last thing he wanted to do was participate and cooperate, so he folded his arms and gave a challenging stare at Angie, who raised a lone eyebrow. He stood in the middle of the circle, and Michael Jordan were gazing at him uncomfortably.

As Angie continued to hold his steady stare, he finally sighed and complied, going to sit down. He was going to have to pick and choose his battles, and the staring contest was one battle he did not want to fight as of right now.

When Murtagh had sat down and leaned back in his chairs, his feet and legs luxuriously stretched in front of him in a relaxed position, Angie decided to start. "Well, welcome to group therapy today!" she chirped and Murtagh snorted in derision, causing everyone to stare at him. As they did so, Angie asked in a dry manner, "Was there something you wanted to add, Joshua?"

Choosing to ignore the fact that she had called him Joshua, Murtagh waved his hand impatiently and merely replied in the most sarcastic tone that he could, "Yes, blah, blah, blah. Welcome to group torture session, yeah, we get it already!"

An awkward silence followed, though Murtagh felt far from awkward. In fact, he smiled to himself a little bit. The male nurse Austin, was frowning, his dislike for his patient increasing ever since the clash with the clock earlier that morning. However Angie seemed to have far more patience than Austin did and she seemed to take it in stride.

"Well talk about this later, Joshua," she calmly but firmly replied, and Murtagh scowled at hearing the name he hated. He would have said that his name was Joshua, in correction, but he didn't have the time for Angie began the roll call, starting the meeting.

"All right, listen up!" she commanded in a voice filled with such authority that automatically everyone began perking up. "As you can see, we have a new patient here. I want you to be nice to him. So, here's what we're going to do. We're going to go around the circle and say our name, as well as something about us. I'll go first and then we'll go to the right. My name's Angie. I love working on cars."

She pointed to her right and immediately a new girl whom Murtagh hadn't met before said, "My name's Clarissa. I like drawing, and I want to be an artist some day."

Murtagh barely paid attention as they went around the room, though he did make an honest effort to listen when it was his new friends' turns. He wanted to know a little bit more about them, if only for reference later. But truth be told he was starting to care about them. And if what they gave him could help him solve this case then he was more than happy to listen.

Finally, it was Murtagh's turn. But he didn't feel like it. He hated that he was being put through this, so he did nothing but lean back in his seat, fold his arms, stretch his legs out, and give a challenging stare at the group leader Angie. When she gave a challenging stare back, Murtagh decided to be obstinate and stubborn.

"Oh?" he mocked her, a derisive tone in his voice. "Were you waiting for me to speak? Well I don't really feel like saying anything."

"Joshua..." Angie warned calmly, but there was a sharpness in her tone that Murtagh had never heard before, almost like despite everything, she was formidable in the end. That made Murtagh wonder what exactly she was capable of, and it made him a little nervous.

Releasing a huff of air, Murtagh sat up some. "Fine!" he griped. But if he was going to have to participate in this torture session, he may as well get something out of it. After all, he may as well send a message out to his jailers that he was not going to give in, no matter what. He was not going to be brainwashed, not again. One time was more than enough.

Tapping his foot impatiently, and saying nothing, he waited until Angie gave him another warning before he finally announced to the group, "My name is Murtagh, and I've been kidnapped by these crazy people." And he couldn't help but smile in challenge at the awkwardness that followed.

"Joshua," Austin warned, and Murtagh could sense his temper rising, as well as see it in the way the nurse oriented himself, leaning forward more as if he was ready to crouch and spring, like a predator. And Murtagh just knew that he had hit a good nerve.

"What!" Murtagh exclaimed, his own temper getting the better of him at the same time. And a sudden urge to get the patients to see what was really going on got a hold of him. He looked around, trying to get the group's attention. If only to warn them!

"We've all been kidnapped by these crazy people!" he announced, and to his disappointment the group merely watched him with apathetic expressions, like they'd seen something like this before. And the fact that Murtagh realized that they all had probably done this before and it had never worked before unnerved him. But he was not about to stop now.

"Listen!" Murtagh exclaimed, desperately trying to open their eyes, hopeful that they had not been so completely brainwashed as to not see the truth.

"Listen!" he said again with more energy. "You know this to be true! So why deny it? You don't really know who you are anymore or where you come from. And they've got such a strong hold on you that every time someone new comes who hasn't become brainwashed like you yet, you don't believe them and don't do anything about it anymore! Listen!"

Much to his disappointment he was cut off by none other than Angie.

"Joshua," the woman warned sharply, a dagger in her voice now. And Austin had his fists clenched, and Murtagh could see the muscles moving underneath his skin. But he wasn't about to stop now. As dull eyed as the other patients were, he had their attention and he knew he had to do something, or all was lost.

"You were like me," Murtagh continued, and to his pleasure, some of them were fidgeting uncomfortable in their seats now. So what he was saying was affecting them. It was good to know.

"You fought," Murtagh confirmed them. "You fought them until you couldn't anymore, until you couldn't _**remember**_ anymore." To his surprise, even Lucy seemed to fidget, and she looked away.

Murtagh decided to try harder, and he sped up his speech as he saw Austin walk towards him. His time was running out to say what he had to say.

"You've lost memory of your past selves, fighting until you no longer could, until you finally _**believed**_ them! But now that I'm reminding you, they don't want me to, so they'll take me to time out or whatever just to shut me up so that you remain in the dark!"

And at that point Austin had grabbed him and was attempting to pull him out of the chair and out of the room. But Murtagh would not go without resistance.

"I know who I am still!" Murtagh shouted as he kicked and fought. "I am Murtagh! But you all have lost your identities! Do you see now?! Do you see what they're trying to do? They want me silent, and as soon as I'm out of the room, they'll try to correct it, tell you something different. They'll tell you that I'm deranged and hallucinogenic, and I need help.

"But that's all part of the game. Do you see? Do you - Mmmph!" he exclaimed and suddenly as lightening and thunder, Austin was trying to restrain him, and someone had put a hand in front of his mouth, silencing him just as he predicted.

Angie was merely watching in disappointment, and Murtagh continued to kick and scream. And Angie then sighed.

"I'm disappointed, Joshua," and she fanned herself with some sheets of paper in her hand. "You should have just told us your real name and something about you. You didn't need to start causing trouble."

At this point they had Murtagh down on the ground, restraining him, the other nurse still holding a hand over his mouth.

Angie continued, "We'll let you up when you calm down and are cooperative." And with that they waited, but Murtagh still continued to kick and scream, shaking his head. He was not going to give in, not ever. And, suddenly finding a hold despite his arms and legs being restrained, he found that he had an opportunity, so he took it. He bit down hard on the man who had his hand over his mouth.

The man screamed and Angie sighed. "Everyone out!" she announced and all the patients suddenly scrambled to get out of the room. "Level five alert!"

Murtagh heard as the big doors to the group room shut, but he didn't care. All he cared about was resisting. But as they opened again, only then did he panic. And as they began pulling one of his arms away, only then did he understand and he fought harder. They were going to sedate him.

Yelling, he did his best to resist, but it was pointless. He couldn't even kick out. Soon the needle plunged into his skin, and soon he settled into a calm blackness once more.

(A little later)

(Murtagh Point of View)

How long he was out for, he didn't know. But when he finally came into awareness he saw that he was in a tiny room with no windows. Only the door with a small window that was shut from the outside was in front of him. The door was thick and metal, and would no doubt be loud if he banged against it. It seemed all the more designed to make it seem that he was a trouble maker.

He was laying on the soft carpet of the room, the carpet padding the walls as well. And as he lay he look up at the bright, fluorescent light that was above him, the only thing illuminating the space he was in. And he blinked once, twice, three times.

Sighing, he decided it was time that he shook the tiredness from his limbs. So, he slowly climbed into a sitting position, surprised at the effort that it took him. He was exhausted by the time he sat up, so he didn't do anything more for now.

"Ah!" he muttered, breathing heavily from exhaustion and bringing a hand to his head as he felt a headache coming. "What did they do to me?"

In fact, the last time he remembered being sedated, which was not that long ago now that he thought about it, he didn't remember waking up like this, like he'd been run over by a semi truck. In fact, where did he learn that saying from to begin with, anyways?

And why did he feel like this? He felt horrible! His limbs ached all over and he felt pain all over his body, and he was pretty sure it wasn't from resisting because he'd resisted last time, but he hadn't woken up like this before.

Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the screaming headache, and brought his hand to the bridge of his nose, applying pressure. But the headache still didn't go away or recede. It remained as constant as ever. And he was confused as to how this could have been the case.

'They must have sedated me even more heavily,' his mind said through the pain, but even that didn't make sense. It was a sedative and was designed to relax and drug the body. So why all the pain and the headache? That couldn't come from a sedative and muscle relaxant, could it?

He blinked as he heard indistinct voices outside his "cell". Then a louder male voice said, "He's awake." More scuffling was heard and finally the door opened to reveal none other than Dr. Baldy, more commonly known as Dr. Stephen W. Windstead.

Stephen was wearing a white lab coat with his name printed on the left side of the jacket, facing Murtagh's right. As he stood in front of the doorway, Murtagh trying to blink back the light that was seeping through around him and disrupting his head even more, Dr. Windstead folded his arms in a disappointing manner.

But Murtagh merely blinked up at him, a little to incapacitated to be sarcastic at the moment. He wasn't really in the mood for it anyway, considering what he'd just experienced upon waking up. And it couldn't help but make him afraid, making him wonder what they were really capable of doing to him and the others.

Dr. Stephen continued to look at him, the disappointment clear on his face. "Joshua," he finally greeted firmly, and Murtagh winced at the use of the name.

"Baldy," he weakly greeted back, knowing that though he wasn't in the mood he should try to do something to show that he wasn't going to be controlled by these people. But baldy frowned at this.

Finally, the Dr. sighed, and after motioning to the people outside whom Murtagh couldn't see, the Dr. stepped in the room more and they shut the door after him, locking it secure. Dr. Windstead sat beside him crossing his legs, and Murtagh didn't feel physically like getting up and moving, though he sure wanted to. He was exhausted as it was.

As Murtagh stared at the doc's shiny head that was illuminated in the florescent light, particularly on top, he couldn't help the flicker of memory of something long forgotten crossing his mind. But in an instant he couldn't help but realize that he'd remembered something and then lost it again, something important about his life before.

And he couldn't help but note that his memory was disappearing more, something that frightened him. It seemed to be decreasing more and more, though he still knew who he was, thank goodness.

But he did know this much about the memory that had surfaced, it had something to do with his traumatic past under king Galbatorix. What it was, he didn't know. He didn't know if it was linked to now or if it even had anything to do with now, but that wasn't the point.

And as he struggled to remember more, fear filled him, causing him to gaze at the doctor nervously. Would he soon be lost like the other patients? Would he become like them? Why was his memory disappearing?

The doc waited patiently, as if waiting to see what he would do. But Murtagh said nothing so they sat in silence for a little while.

Finally, Murtagh couldn't help but blurt out, "What did you do to me?" And the doctor glanced at him, his face completely composed, though Murtagh was sure he was hiding something. They were all hiding something.

"What do you mean?" the doc finally asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge as he stared back into Murtagh's fear filled gray eyes.

At this point Murtagh knew that they would deny that they had done anything to harm him, and he knew that he would have to start asking specific questions if he wanted to even get a hint of an answer from them.

Looking away, building up the courage to ask, he said, "I'm in pain all over. I have a headache, and I don't even know why I'm feeling this way. I feel like I've been run over by a cement truck. All my injuries have been healed, so it's not as if it could have been that."

And then he was looking into the doc's face for answers again. Baldy stared calmly back. "Are you sure it's not because you were resisting the nurses?"

"Yes," Murtagh calmly replied, not even sure why he was discussing this in such a calm tone. It must be the effects of some of the medicine. "I resisted last time, remember? But I didn't wake up feeling like this. So why do I?"

"Maybe because we sedated you a little more heavily this time," was the only answer he got, and Murtagh knew that he would have to up his game at this point. They weren't going to give any answers readily. And that just didn't make sense.

"And you wouldn't have done that for transport?" Murtagh challenged back. He was impressed at the same time. This doctor had a lot of patience with him. Even Galbatorix didn't always have patience. And Galbatorix had been playing his game for a long time, longer than this guy.

"You were more distressed this time," the doc shrugged as if it was this time only, but Murtagh narrowed his eyes. That still didn't add up.

"That still doesn't make sense," Murtagh suspiciously growled, despite his abnormally calm feeling. "I was even more distressed than last time, and you know it. Last time was kidnap. This time is fighting. But still, even if it were that, it still doesn't make sense that I wake up this way. Since when does a sedative and a muscle relaxant make you feel like you've been run over by a bulldozer?"

Once more Murtagh was in awe that he'd used a reference to something he didn't recognize. And yet he'd used the reference as if it was second nature to him and part of his personality. But he was pretty sure he didn't know what a bulldozer was. What was going on here?

The doctor sighed heavily. "I suppose it was just your bodies' reaction to it." Murtagh scoffed. That sounded ridiculous. And he didn't believe it one bit. He knew that the doc was holding something back. He knew that baldy was lying to him.

But the doctor didn't press him further, nor did Murtagh seek further. He knew he wasn't going to get anything at this point so there was no point in even trying. His resources and intellect would be far better applied to where he could get even a tiny bit of an answer.

By the time Murtagh glanced back at him he noted with discomfort the way the doc was eyeing him. "Hmmm," he contemplated as he studied Murtagh closely, and Murtagh couldn't help but fidget. "What am I going to do with you? What am I going to do with you, Joshua?"

He didn't say anything about the name used. There were far bigger things at stake, and the way the doc was eyeing him, almost like a predator, made him nervous. They both stayed like that sometime, Murtagh purposefully looking away, and the doc studying him. Finally baldy looked away, for which he was grateful for.

"You know," Dr. Windstead began, using a conversational tone, but Murtagh was suspicious no matter what way the doc said things. "You shouldn't have caused such problems. You should have just been a good boy and played nice with the nurses and your peers."

A sneer spread across Murtagh's face. "You mean play your little game?" he challenged and the doc glanced at him briefly, shooting a reproving glare.

"I mean going through with your treatment," baldy explained and Murtagh folded his arms, mad.

"There's nothing wrong with me," Murtagh grumbled and the doc sighed. He had heard.

"They just want to help," the doc replied again. "But you keep resisting treatment. We only want you to get better."

The red rider scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He was recovering his strength a little, but not enough. The doc reminded him of Galbatorix and Elva in a way. Elva, now where did that name come from? Once more, he felt suppressed memories fighting to the surface, but he couldn't quite remember it. Was she someone who had helped Galbatorix?

All he knew was that the doc should be labeled danger. He was no helper.

"And we still haven't discussed about the clock incident yet." Murtagh froze at this. What would the doc do to him? But to his surprise Dr. Stephen merely sent him an amused expression.

"Now tell me?" He asked, leaning back and unfolding his arms as he gazed with interest at Murtagh. "How is fighting a clock, fighting an inanimate object, how is that fighting us?" And a he raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Murtagh sighed. "I'm not going to explain myself."

"But you do know that we have to punish you for that little incident, right? As well as what happened in group therapy?" And Murtagh couldn't help but tense as the doc said punish.

Looking down, Murtagh began playing with the carpet, looking anywhere but the doctor. "And how are you going to do that?" he asked in a soft, tight voice, as if he didn't really want an answer.

In his mind's eye, he imagined being beaten with a whip, and he shivered at that. It was as if it was a past experience of his, and he didn't remember where he'd experienced him from. But he remembered fear from such a situation. Is that what the doc had in mind for him?

He remained tense as the doc was silent. But finally the doc sighed and sat up once more.

"We're taking away some of your privileges. You're to stay in your room and take meals in your room until further notice. You'll only come out for treatment and group therapy, things like that. This will last for a week. At the end of the week you will write a report detailing what you learned and why what you did was wrong. Then we'll talk again."

And Murtagh relaxed as he heard this. That wasn't half so bad. At least it wasn't a whip...

"Oh," he responded, and as the tension was released from his shoulders, he was brought into awareness of just how tense and afraid he had been. "I guess that's all right." He was still playing with the carpet, so he missed the doc sending him a questioning glance.

"Why?" the doc asked. "What did you think we were going to do to you?"

Murtagh froze at this, and his finger was left pointing at a particularly large fluff on the ground. He dared a glance at the doc and saw confusion and concern.

"Nothing," he decided to respond, but the doc frowned as if he weren't satisfied with that answer, which he probably wasn't. The doc liked to know everything about him, so much that it irritated Murtagh. But how did he know that? How did he know the doc liked to know that much about him? It was as if he'd known that for a while now and just remembered.

"I'm sure it isn't nothing," Dr. Windstead pressed further, confirming what Murtagh had realized, or rather remembered. And the boy didn't know how to respond.

He was left staring into the doc's compassion filled eyes. So realistic was that gaze that Murtagh almost forgot that this was his enemy here, and the compassion in the eyes was all a lie. He warred inside himself, wondering whether or not to share what he had been thinking. Would baldy be able to use it against him at some point? Was it even safe to share that much about him with this kidnapper?

Finally he sighed and proceeded forward, all the while wondering whether he even should. He wasn't sure that this was the wisest thing to do, but this wasn't a situation where he could say with a definite answer that one way was safer than the other. If he said nothing, the doc would press further. And if he lied, he was pretty sure the doc would know seeing as the doc knew a lot about him already.

Nervously, he responded, "When you said 'punishment', I was pretty sure it was going to be something physical." And he left that hanging, discomfort in the air.

"Oh," the doc finally asked, looking away, and the doc did look uncomfortable at that. He frowned, as if in disapproval, and then he said to Murtagh without looking at him, "We don't do that here. And we don't approve of such things." With that he glanced back to Murtagh.

Silence filled the air once more and Murtagh was back to playing with the carpet. "Why not?" he finally asked, and the doc didn't answer at first.

Baldy looked to be considering his answer closely. "Because," he slowly ground out, trying to explain it as simply as possible. "It's physical abuse. We don't do that here."

At long last, the doctor looked back to him, and Murtagh looked into the doctors eyes. There was a seriousness in that expression that Murtagh couldn't place, and for a little bit he was confused. "I... don't understand," he finally admitted, and there that compassion from the doctor again.

Dr. Stephen sighed. "I suppose I can understand that," he drew out slowly, and he brought his legs out of the Indian style he was sitting in to lay straight out in front of him. He was silent for a moment as he considered things once more, and then he began again, facing forward as he talked.

"Joshua," he began slowly, and Murtagh winced as he said that. But he made no move to correct it. Instead, Murtagh let him continue, waiting to see what he had to say, to tired to resist.

"When you were young, Joshua, for I knew you for a very long time, you went through some difficult things. You were abused when you were younger and your parents used physical abuse as a form of so called punishment. You went through a difficult time. Also you were beaten when you were held by Commemorate.

"I suppose that both they and them tried to convince you that it was your fault for the pain you endured, that it was all right to use such means as so called "correction"."

The disgust and disapproval was evident in Dr. Stephen's voice, and even Murtagh was surprised at the passion with which he spoke, and the care that was in there. He was awed by it, and he was too relaxed, too calm to be able to decipher whether or not this was one of those tricks being pulled on him.

The doc continued, "I can see that my choice of words got you nervous, and for that I apologize. I did not mean to upset or alarm you, merely to bring accountability and responsibility. I apologize." And Murtagh was taken back by this. The doctor apologized to _**him**_?

"Oh," was all Murtagh could say, and then he was back to poking at the ground again. He didn't know where he had picked up that habit from, for he knew he hadn't had it before. Where had he learned it from? And he was also awkward at the situation.

The doctor stood up and as he motioned for Murtagh to do so, Murtagh stood up after much hesitation and struggle.

"I'll take you to your room," Dr. Windstead softly murmured, and he let Murtagh lean on his shoulders as the doc supported him, for Murtagh was still feeling very weak and very much in pain. As the doc knocked on the door and Murtagh was forced to stand there for a bit, he gritted his teeth in pain. But finally the door opened.

The doc helped him out into the common room and out in the hallway, and finally, after using a key to open Murtagh's door, he helped him into his room and over to the bed. Murtagh promptly laid down, exhausted from that little bit of travel.

It felt as if every muscle in his body was straining and Murtagh shut his eyes, desperate to block out the pain. But finally the pain subsided some, and the doc was still there, gazing at him in concern.

"I'll get a nurse or someone to look at you," Dr. Windstead murmured softly as he watched Murtagh struggle with the pain. But this only caused Murtagh more distress.

"No thank you," Murtagh managed to ground out, but this only made baldy to frown some.

"If your really in that much pain, you should have someone look at you," the doctor urged, but Murtagh gently shook his head as he gritted his teeth.

"Actually, I think I'd rather sleep it off, without interruptions," Murtagh explained hoping that the doctor would listen. He could tell that Dr. Stephen was reluctant, but finally the doc sighed and nodded his head, giving in, albeit not happily.

"Very well," the doctor conceded. "I'll do as you ask, but only for now. If we come back and your still in pain or having troubles, we're going to have someone look at you, whether or not you like it."

And Murtagh thought it was a fair bargain, so he nodded his head. After all, the last thing he wanted was for a doctor or a nurse treating him. That idea had never made him comfortable, and he didn't understand why.

But he was pretty sure that the pain would be gone by the time woke up, or at least he hoped, so he thought the doc's bargain was fair. After all, it played into his favor, more than likely.

He heard as the doc softly moved out the door, and when the door shut, he let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Right then," he murmured to himself. "Sleep time."

Sleep proved more difficult than he thought it would be. But at last he fell into a peaceful sleep.

When he woke up, it was just as he predicted he felt a lot better. But he was left wondering about his phantom pains and where it had come from.

(Murtagh Point of View)

The next day was interesting for Murtagh, as well as boring. For him, all day was quiet time, and while he heard the others out there chatting up a storm, he was locked in his room (quite literally), and he was left to "ponder what he had done". As they put it, so did he.

They brought him worksheets to fill out that were supposed to help him acknowledge that he was accountable for his actions, and though he freely acknowledged that he had done those things, he thought it was only fair in light of what they had done to him. It was a revenge of sorts, so to speak.

But they were persistent and they demanded that the worksheets be done by the end of the day. And they demanded that it be done to their satisfaction. And, as such, Murtagh found that he was writing what they wanted to hear, much to his disgust.

So he also found himself even more in awe at how he knew this written language for he knew it wasn't his native tongue. He was left wondering where he had learned it from. But he had no answers to those questions.

As the time rolled on, even during this short period of time, he found that more and more of his memories were missing. There were more and more things that he couldn't remember, and that disturbed him. Suddenly he could understand why the patients had a hard time resisting the nurses and the doctors. And this only made him more and more concerned about what it meant for him.

But that wasn't the only oddity that occurred. And during that week of punishment he was met with another hard to understand situation, one that brought on more questions.

Once, during the evening as he was filling out worksheets (for he had nothing else to do and he was bored), he received a phone call. One of the nurses, Angie, had come in to deliver the message.

She'd knocked on his door, and when Murtagh had grunt out, "Come in," only then did she come in. She had a sweet smile on her face, and Murtagh immediately went back to what he was doing, not in the mood to deal with her and whatever torture she had planned for him.

"You have a phone call," she told him. Immediately, Murtagh stopped and looked up, tapping his pen in confusion. 'Phone call, phone call,' he thought to himself, thinking. An image of a phone was brought up into his mind, but once more a feeling of foreignness enveloped him. He knew what it was, but it just didn't seem _**right**_. It was like such an object didn't belong in his life.

He frowned. "Who's it from?" he dared to ask, and he remained facing forward as he tried to figure out why anyone would have need to give him a phone call.

"Your mother!" Angie breathed out in excitement as if it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

And once more, Murtagh frowned. "My mother is dead," he explained to her, the most suspicious and confused look on his face.

But Angie gave him a compassionate look, and it made him sick. What kind of game were they playing with him? Selena died long ago! "Sweety," Angie began and Murtagh wanted to cough in disgust at what she called him. "That's your birth mother your referring to. But your adoptive mother, the one that raised you for most your life, she's still alive."

Murtagh's pinched his lips together in frustration. He was not adopted. That was another lie. He was left to grow up in someone's castle, and with a twitch of fear he realized that more of his memories were missing.

He closed his eyes, trying so hard to remember, but he just couldn't get a grasp on those memories. It was the castle of a man, of a king, but he could no longer remember the name. Galbarax, was it? But no, that didn't sound right. Why couldn't he remember?

'I remembered just a few days ago,' he thought to himself in worry. And he remembered the pain he'd felt a few days ago. Could that have something to do with it?

But his memory loss was really starting to worry him, especially the fact that everyone in that deranged place seemed to have some form of memory loss, though they claimed to remember things before hand, ridiculous things, things the doctors said had happened.

And that made him suspicious when they spurted the memories that the doctors had confirmed. It made him believe that something was up. For one, sometimes they would spew out confusing memories that contradicted those things, those memories the doctors confirmed, and even they were confused.

Murtagh tended to believe those confusing and contradictory accounts as opposed to the ones the doctors would reiterate with whenever the patients would ground out the accounts that opposed their own.

Angie was still watching him. "Joshua?" she asked softly and Murtagh shook his head, trying to clear his mind of all the confusion he'd witnessed lately. "A mother?" he inquired of her in monotone, and Angie nodded her head excitedly.

"And she wants to talk to you!" Murtagh couldn't help but notice how she practically chirped her answer in excitement, like she wanted Murtagh to be excited about it.

"Why?" Murtagh ground out, turning to her, searching her face for an explanation. "Why does she want to talk to me?" At this Angie seemed in shock, as if she couldn't believe that he would say such a thing. And she seemed bewildered by it.

"Why _**wouldn't**_ she?" Angie asked, her eyes wide and her expression horrified at his response. "You're her son!"

"I don't remember an adoptive mother," was the reply Murtagh gave, and Angie sighed sadly.

"That's because of your memory loss," she reiterated, but Murtagh pursed his lips, not entirely sure that was true. The whole situation just didn't seem right.

Now Murtagh was debating whether or not he really should look into this. Would it hurt to talk to this mysterious woman who claimed to be his adoptive mother?

As he sat there thinking, Angie prompted, "She really does miss you, you know. Go put her mind at ease. She needs to know how you're doing."

'Aka, you want me to tell her that I'm all right,' Murtagh snorted as he thought that. But, his mind made up, seeing no harm in trying to get more answers about his situation and seeing that he could possibly use this to his advantage, he got up and nodded his head.

He followed Angie out of the room, and went over to the phone. He needed answers, and seeing as he was probably going to be locked up until the big trip, he may as well make use of the time. Who knows, maybe the conversation would give him some ideas on how to run away?

As he took the tan phone that was cordless from Angie's hand, he answered, "Hello?" Once more he was in awe that he knew how to do that, and yet it felt so foreign to him.

"Joshua?" a desperate voice said on the there end, and Murtagh frowned, not in the mood for this. "Is that you?" the female voice gushed out. "Oh! I've been so worried! When they called me and told me about the suicide attempt, and how you were taken to the emergency room, I was so worried! And when they told me that they'd put you in the hospital again, I was worried even more!"

Murtagh frowned some. "Hold on! Hold on! I don't even know who you are!" he exclaimed. "And my name's not Joshua! It's Murtagh!" When would people finally respect him and call him that?

"Joshua!" the woman chastised lightly. "Don't you even remember me?" And the woman was crying on the other end, he could tell. But he believed it to be fake.

"You know me! It's your mother!" she sobbed more on the other end. "They'd told me about the amnesia, but I didn't want to believe it! I didn't believe it until just now, when I heard it! I'd thought you'd always remember me, that you'd never forget me!" The sobs were louder now.

Murtagh was at a loss of how to deal with this. Either this woman was genuine, or they had a really good actress on the other end. And he refused to believe that this woman was actually who she said she was. He still believed that his real mother's name was Selena.

Actress? That was another confusion. Where had he heard that before? It was another one of those things that was familiar and yet foreign at the same time.

And another thing that bothered him, was she really trying to guilt trip him? He sighed, trying to be as gentle as possible, and he didn't even know why. Were crying women really a weakness for him?

"Look," Murtagh finally demanded. "I don't know who you are! But I know you're not my mother, at least not really! I have a mother already, and she died a long time ago. Her name was Selena, and she was a great mother. Please don't try to impersonate her."

The woman on the other end wept even more. "I'm not impersonating her!" she cried out in distress. "I _**am**_ your mother! I adopted you but I'm _**still**_ your mother! There was no Selena, there never was! She was a woman you dreamed up and hallucinated when you were young!"

"No," Murtagh whispered, refusing to believe this charade. "It can't be. I would remember you."

"You're amnesiac!" she pled. "You know me! Just try to remember! And I know you!"

A shiver ran down Murtagh's spine. Had she been involved in another charade to deceive him before? He held the phone away from his ear as the woman sprouted out more propaganda, such as why he should believe her, of the time she supposedly took him to his first baseball game when he was a kid, as well as other things. But Murtagh didn't want to hear it. He refused to believe it.

Finally, Murtagh had felt that this had gone on long enough. He was tired and he didn't want to deal with it anymore. "Look, lady," he sharply spoke, using a rude tone, words, and mannerisms that he didn't know how he'd picked up. And it was also foreign yet familiar.

He kept being shocked at how much he was beginning to act like everyone around him in speech, thought, mannerisms, and other things. And it wasn't something he'd noticed before now. Before, he'd had somewhat of an accent that he'd never noticed, different ways of wording things and saying things.

But now he was becoming like the rest of the patients here, and acting like the culture here. That disturbed him how much he was being assimilated into this foreign culture without his permission. He didn't even know where he'd learned these things before.

"Look, lady!" he continued, ignoring his observations for now. "I don't know who you are, and I don't appreciate you playing on my emotions like this. I had a mother. Selena! Selena was her name! And she died a long time ago! So don't dishonor her memory anymore. Goodbye!"

With that he hung up promptly after taking the phone away from his ear, but not before he heard the woman yell out, "Joshua!" And then he urgently stumbled back to his room, a headache forming.

He lay down on the bed and sighed, closing his eyes. His head was hurting again, and he didn't even know why. Finally, after a time of trying to relax and calm down, Angie came to see him.

'Of course!' he snorted, upset and irritated. He should have known that she'd come to see him about this. She had a tendency to turn up when he was supposedly causing trouble.

She'd knocked and then immediately come in without waiting for a reply like she was supposed to. "Joshua?" she called softly in, and Murtagh turned and faced the wall, refusing to deal with her.

As she sighed and walked up to his bed, Murtagh growled, "Leave me alone! I don't want to talk about this! Just go away!" And then he ignored her as she sat on the bed beside him.

"That wasn't very polite to do that to her, you know," Angie gently reprimanded, but Murtagh rolled his eyes. It hurt that someone would impersonate his real mother, Selena, like that.

"She's not my mother," Murtagh stated, a lone tear rolling down his face. "I know who my real mother is. It's not her. She shouldn't have done that to me."

Angie huffed calmly. "The records state-" she began, but Murtagh cut her off rudely.

"Yeah! I know what the records state! But that doesn't make it true." And he dabbed his eyes softly as the tears started to pool. Staying here was wearing a heavy toll on him, and he wasn't sure how much more he could handle and take before caving in. He missed home so badly...

Suddenly he was weeping and sobbing like never before, his emotions rolling out. As much as he didn't want to do this in front of the enemy, to let them know how much they were succeeding in breaking him, he couldn't help it.

To his surprise Angie said nothing but hushed him gently. She stayed there a while as he cried, in embarrassment as well that this was happening right now in front of her, but she observed him sadly.

Occasionally she would rub his back and tell him that everything would be all right, that he would be better soon, and he hated her for that. He hated what she was doing to him, and he desperately wished for a way out of this mess. But he could see no way out of it.

How long this continued for, he didn't know. But he did feel his exhaustion and his own strength leaving him. Desperately, he wished that she would leave and let him alone. And still he cried.

Finally, even though he was still crying, she got up. "I'll leave you be now." And she left, no sound made but the opening and closing of the door.

Yet a part of Murtagh knew that she'd gotten what she wanted. She knew Murtagh was broken.

**Alright, so sorry to any guys there, about that part with the sloppy joes. It's just a story.**

**Please review if you are reading! Reviewing is a courtesy!**

**Sincerely,**

**Firestar'sniece**


	3. Chapter 3: Escape Plan

**I don't own Inheritance Cycle.**

**Speaking of Escape Plan, no it's not named after their group, but their song Brightest Star in the Night Sky is awesome! If you have a chance, I'd check it out!**

Chapter Three: Escape Plan

(Murtagh Point of View)

Murtagh knew he was in the dream world. And yet he also knew that his mind was wafting through memories, memories that he had trouble recalling when he was awake. And yet here they were still fuzzy, like it would be troublesome to remember anyways.

They weren't pleasant memories, and as his subconscious mind settled on one to bring up (why bring the terrible ones up, he didn't know), some part of Murtagh stirred with emotion that he didn't recognize. And so, he let the dreams and memories come.

Murtagh was somewhere else, somewhere far away. All he remembered was that it was another land, another world. But what it was called, he couldn't remember. But this much he knew, this wasn't the "earth" that everyone talked about.

He was wearing strange, medieval like clothing, and a red cloak was around his shoulders. Behind him was a massive creature, a dragon he believed, and it was blood red like his cloak.

But in front of him was a man, slightly younger than he was, with unusual graceful, slanted features. This man was wearing a blue cloak and was leaning back against a dragon the color of his blue cloak. The dragon was laying on the ground, and after a moment Murtagh realized that the dragon behind him was as well. And he was comfortable next to the red dragon.

But why was he comfortable? What was this dragon to him? And how did he know that it was a dragon? He knew that the dragon had a name, but he could no longer remember it. And he was desperate to, like it was a clue to his past. But this memory wouldn't help him remember. That and he somehow knew that these dragons were intelligent, like people were intelligent. This was an equal.

However, other strange emotions were also brewing inside of him, strong, terrible, and painful emotions. He was currently in a deep conversation with this other person, his brother he realized, and they were talking about something. Then there was somewhat of a pause for a long moment.

"Why?" Murtagh asked the other person, his tone controlled, but inside his emotions raged. The other person looked at him curiously, almost confused. With realization he noticed that he was throwing a new topic on the other without warning.

"Why what?" the other asked, and Murtagh glanced to the sides where a table lay. On that table were blades the color of the dragons in the massive stone room they were in. They seemed to bring a feeling of pain to him, though he didn't remember why.

A sigh escaped him as he turned back to his brother, and as he spoke, anguish laced his tone this time. He was barely able to hold back his emotions, but somehow he was able to.

"Why?" Murtagh found himself asking the younger. More pain was in his voice. "I did everything for you! I was there for you when you needed me! When the Ra'zac attacked you, I drove them off. When your father died, I was by your side, ready to help. When you needed help learning where the Varden were, I went to Gilead with you.

"I _**rescued**_ you from Gil'ead, and for all I knew, you were either dead, or it would be too dangerous for me to rescue you. I could have gotten captured!"

And he was listing off more things, the anger inside him growing. "I took personal risk! There was no body showing that you were alive, and I only had Saphira's word!" With a jolt, he remembered that that was the name of the blue dragon behind the younger.

"I personally went to go get you! And you didn't even follow the plan! When you wanted to go the Varden, I went with you even though I knew that they might kill me for it! And you didn't even listen when I told you that I didn't want to go, and to make sure I had a way out before we even reached the Varden. I did that for you!

"I even stayed by your side when you were suspicious about me when I first revealed that I was Morzan's son! Always, that's what I got from people when they found out who I was. I was never given a fair chance based on who I was, only based on _**him**_.

"And that hurt when you looked at me like that, with such suspicion, especially after all we had gone through together, after all I had done for you. And yet I still went with you, even though I should have run off, despite the risks!"

He shook with grief even as the younger boy struggled to keep his emotions contained and use a neutral face. But the other was feeling grief as well, he could tell. "I was imprisoned by them for that, and that was because I was the son of someone they hated! Not for what I did, but for what _**he **_did. I warned you that would happen, but no, you never listened! And yet I still went with you."

Tears were now flowing down the younger's face, and Murtagh went on, "I even fought for them, and I was well aware that even though I fought for them, they would never accept me. I was alone all that time, and you barely came to visit me! I needed your company, the company of my friend, Eragon! The friend who turned out to be my brother."

The bottled up emotions that Murtagh remembered he'd been holding for so long he saw released all of a sudden in that memory.

"Why?" he asked again. "Why? Why did you do that to me? After I did all that for you, all that and more!"

He watched as his younger brother flinched. Yet Murtagh stood up in anger and pointed his accusatory finger at him. "I was there for you when you needed me, Eragon. I was _**always**_ there for you, always rescuing you! Yet when _**I **_needed you, the _**one time**_ I needed you, you weren't there for _**me**_! You talk about betrayal Eragon? It was _**you**_ who betrayed _**me**_!"

Tears began pouring down Murtagh's face, and to his surprise, his memory showed that he had embarrassment at this point, embarrassment of crying in front of his brother. And there was also grief and pain, grief and pain like no other. The younger brother listened quietly, tears on his face to.

"I _**needed**_ you," Murtagh's voice broke. "When you were in Gil'ead, I _**searched**_ for you. I didn't stop until I found you. But you never quite put out the same efforts that I did when you supposedly searched for me, did you? I wouldn't have stopped where you did. I would have followed!"

He'd put his face in his hands, and though the younger made a move like he wanted to come over and comfort him, he seemed to think better of it.

"You have no idea," he heard himself whisper in a haunted tone. "You have no idea what I went through! And I always wondered why you didn't come for me. I told him that you would. I told him that you were a true friend to me, one of the few true friends I had. Yet you went and made me a liar.

"After he tortured me and took my memories, I still continued to resist, for your sake. But he would always tell me it was in vain. He told me that you didn't care, and that I was expendable in your eyes, in the eyes of the Varden. If it was someone else, they would come. But because I was the son of Morzan, I wouldn't be treated the same. They would never consider rescue for me.

"Even the twins would tell me the same as they pulled me to Uru'baen. They told me you didn't care, even as they tortured me. They said I was the expendable one. And yet I held out hope. Even after I was in the custody of Galbatorix, I had hope you would come. Even after everything I went through.

"But when you never came, I didn't understand. I wondered if you'd even ever seen me as a friend. Was I even worth that much to you? I began to wonder whether Galbatorix was right in his assessment of you and what you would do to me, were doing to me. I was upset and angry. I felt betrayed.

"And yet I couldn't hate you, for I'd found out that you're my brother. And you'd been my friend. Some part of me always stayed loyal to you and never wanted you to suffer through what I was going through.

"But I couldn't understand how I could be tossed aside so easily, like I was worth nothing, like I was dirt to you. And I was tired of going through the pain. I was desperate for the pain to end. I wanted to live a life with less pain. It was survival for me at that point."

Murtagh lifted his pain filled eyes to Eragon. "It hurt me, brother. It hurt me like you wouldn't understand. And yet the only excuse you could give me was that you were tired? That you thought I was dead? Where was the body to prove that I was dead?

"You were too tired to follow? I was tired when I went to rescue you from Gil'ead. I was tired all those times I was deprived of food and water and in the dungeon! I was tired from what they _**did**_ to me! Sure, maybe you were tired. If anything, you should have rested up and then come to rescue me!"

Eragon sat there, his sad eyes on his brother. "Murtagh," he whispered sadly.

But Murtagh wasn't done. "And when I was sent to retrieve you, I could have! But I didn't want to. I found a way around my oaths so that you wouldn't have to go through what I did. I did that for _**you**_! I did that knowing what I was facing back there. I knew what I was going to go through. And did you ever appreciate my sacrifice? I was _**tortured**_ for _**your**_ sake! I went through that for you, willingly!

"But did you ever appreciate it? No!" And he chocked on his next words. His voice was now a whisper. "I heard what you said about me, Eragon. You knew we were siblings at that point, and yet you were embarrassed of me. You were embarrassed over what I went through.

"I had no choice in the matter, Eragon. Did you really think I did? How could you think that I did after I told you what _**he**_ did to the two of us? We were never in control! If I had a choice, I wouldn't have done those things. I was a slave! Do you even understand that? I know that you did!

"And yet you disowned me. Did you know how much that hurt? Did you know how much Galbatorix mocked me when he found out about this? He went through no great lengths to use to it to hurt me more, and to point out that you never cared, that I was nothing but a tool to you. He merely reinforced his words that you didn't care on me.

"You even tried to kill me that one time! Even without Galbatorix's orders, I never would have killed you if I couldn't!

"And yet I still cared about you, even though I knew that you no longer cared about me. I only hoped that someday we could repair our friendship, become true brothers. But I doubted that you would ever accept me. And yet your actions continued to bring about pain and suffering on my part.

"I went through a lot for your sake, and you were never grateful. Did you ever even care about me? Why abandon me so easily? Was that all I ever was to you, a tool to get to the Varden? One to be cast aside so easily when I was no longer of use, or when I was then in your way?

"You never helped me to the lengths that I helped you, Eragon. You merely told me to change my name, but when did you ever come to rescue me? I _**needed**_ you! I _**needed**_ you to do something, to come get me! I could never tell you, never ask you, for I was bound to silence and to not try to escape. But you were supposedly my friend! You _**should**_ have known! You _**should**_ have tried harder!"

And Murtagh was in tears again, breaking down in front of his younger brother. He sat down by the red dragon. Though this time, Eragon did make a move, even though the red dragon growled at him. But he ignored it and went to sit beside his brother.

"Murtagh," Eragon whispered, and his tone portrayed his sadness. "I'm sorry! I can't tell you how sorry I am! You're right about a lot of things. I didn't think. I should have done more for you than I did. I shouldn't have given up so easily, and when I found out that you were alive, I should have done more.

"I should never have disowned you. You did do more for me than I ever did for you, and I was never grateful for it. I've treated you wrongly, and for that I am sorry."

Eragon put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder to comfort him, and suddenly Murtagh was weeping again. He sobbed for a little while, the bottled up emotions that he had been holding in for so long spilling out. Much as he didn't want to, he could no longer contain them. And truth be told, he needed the relief. All the while, Eragon sat there and gently rubbed his shoulders.

Finally, when Murtagh was done letting his emotions out, he turned to his brother. His eyes were still filled with pain, and there was a haunted look in his eyes, he knew. "Promise me something," he asked his brother and Eragon nodded immediately.

"Anything!" Eragon promised firmly.

It took a moment before Murtagh realized he was serious. Then he voiced his request. "Never do that again," he asked. "Never abandon me again. _**Always**_ keep looking for me. _**Never**_ stop until you have a body to bury as proof that I am dead."

And Eragon promised in the ancient language, much to Murtagh's surprise. His promise was immediate and certain.

Gratitude at this swelled within him, though truth be told, he was still haunted about the past. Murtagh's thoughts and feelings from the memory were brought to the forefront of his mind. Would Eragon ever find a way around this? After all, he had the name of the ancient language. So would he follow through with his promise?

Then the scene shifted, and Murtagh saw himself in a dungeon. He immediately remembered the feelings of fear and pain that gripped him as he saw that he was in shackles, his wrists and ankles chained. And the bars in front of the door looked intimidating. He was alone, but also scared and confused. And he remembered the feelings of apprehension and the fear of the future he felt.

Somehow he knew that this was even further in the past. He knew where he was, and his abdomen clenched painfully. This was a memory of his time in the castle of that wretched man whose name he could no longer remember. But the pain was still visible and very clear.

As he remembered the state his body was in, deprived of water and nourishment, he realized that his body was very weak. He realized that he had been in this dungeon for a very long time, though how long he didn't know. And already he was on the verge of dying.

His will was also fading, and he seemed to have lost hope. Grief was ever present, as well as pain. He grieved, wondering when his friends were going to come for him, and wondering why he was left to rot in this prison.

His mind was fragile at this point, and he realized that it must have been post the mind break. Granted, his mind had recovered some after being fractured into a zillion little pieces, but he was not all the way recovered. He was still very vulnerable.

And yet he feared that he would never be the same again. And as he lay there in the dungeon, chained and weeping, unable to move because he was too weak to, he heard the doors to the dungeon and prison open. Fear filled him, and he seemed to know what was coming. But he wasn't ready for it. He desperately needed a break. No, he could not face that man again!

The footsteps echoed as the mad king whose name he could no longer remember walked up to him. He saw the feet in the corner of his vision, but he made no move, too weak to. "Rested are you?" the king purred with delight, and when Murtagh couldn't answer because he was too weak to, the king kicked him in the ribs, causing him to yelp.

"Your king asked you a question," the mad man demanded. And there seemed to be pleasure in his voice, like he enjoyed doing this. "Are you going to continue to ignore me?"

Tears poured down Murtagh's eyes. He sighed in pain. What was the point of living anymore when he had to live like this? When would this all finally end?

"Are you going to continue to resist me?" the king asked again, and this time there was a dangerous edge to his voice laced with madness. "After all I did for you growing up? You were an orphan and I took you in, providing you with anything and everything you wanted. You were my ward and I cared for you like a son."

Murtagh wanted to say that the man practically ignored him growing up, but he didn't have the heart to.

"I gave you more than I gave most," the king hissed. "All because of my friendship with your father. And this is how you repay me and your father, by betraying me?"

Sobs escaped Murtagh's throat at this. He was tired... so tired... he just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up... he wanted to die... Would death be painful?

"And yet I will still be like a father to you," the king concluded. Then he sighed, exasperated. "You need to learn, Murtagh. Though I understand. You're an adult that's barely a boy. Rebellion is typical of teenagers for they are trying to find their way in life, learn how to use their new found freedom. A dangerous thing, really. Especially when it's bit not curbed and undisciplined like yours.

"But no, I shall not tolerate it. You are the son of Morzan, and with that you have your father's reputation to uphold. You shall not taint his image anymore, nor mine. No, this is for your own good."

With that the king reached down for him and Murtagh was too weak to resist, though he did let out a pained scream. The chains flew into the king's hands and he was dragged out of the dungeon.

He knew where he was going, he remembered, and he'd known then. It had been a routine for some time. His body shivered in real life as he remembered, and he knew how broken and how exhausted he'd been then. He couldn't resist. And he didn't want to remember how he was taken to another chamber and tortured. He didn't want to remember the king's brainwashing words to him.

His mind spared him at this point and as he past the doorway to the torture chamber his mind skipped ahead. He was being dragged back to his dungeon, and when the king tossed him inside roughly, he groaned. The chains flew back to the wall and once more he was a secure prisoner, not that he could have escaped anyways if he'd wanted to.

He was bloody all over and exhausted, more so than before. But the king had healed him enough before his torture so that he wouldn't die.

The king sighed and walked up, kneeling beside him. As tears poured down Murtagh's face, he being unable to move from exhaustion, the king gently stroked his hair.

"Poor Murtagh," the king crooned sympathetically. "Poor, poor Murtagh. If only he would stop resisting me. If only he would realize that I am the only friend he's ever had, the only family he's ever had. Where were your family when your brother was raised in Carvahall?"

And at the mention of his brother who'd he'd later found out was only by half, he trembled some. The king had already revealed their relation weeks before. And the king knew he'd struck a nerve.

"Yes," he continued to croon. "Your brother, your mother, everyone abandoned you. Nasuada abandoned you. Even that pitiful elf you saved abandoned you. But did I ever abandon you? No, I _**searched **_for you. I went to Dras Leona for you. I've always made out the effort to come get you! Can your so-called friends say as much? Tell me, Murtagh. Where are they?"

And Murtagh didn't know. It was at that moment he broke, in grief and anguish. The king was right. They had abandoned him to this. They didn't care about him. They had used him for their own selfish purposes. The king was right. Eragon didn't care. He only needed him to get to the Varden. His own brother had cast him aside the moment he was no longer needed.

At this, the king saw the change in his demeanor, how he gave up and caved, how his mind submitted to the inevitable truth that he was alone in this, that there was no way out. The king saw how lost he was.

He would never serve the king willingly, but he couldn't resist anymore. He was broken. He was too tired to resist, too exhausted and shattered. And Galbatorix's words were starting to sound true. Much to his displeasure, he started believing some of those words.

"Yes," the king confirmed softly. "I am your only friend. And I am the only friend you need. Others will abandon you, but I will never abandon you. And I will always correct you, child, when you need correcting. It's for your own good. I am your patron, and you are my ward. I am like a father to you; I will always be like a father to you."

Pitifully, the boy started crying in grief. But the king wasn't done. "I have some tests for you," the king purred. "But I know you'll succeed. And when you do, I have a gift for you."

"Never!" Murtagh finally managed to croak. But he cringed as the king lashed out with magic.

His mind blacked out as he began to scream, but he awoke in real life screaming. Panting, he saw that he was in the hospital, and it was almost time to wake up.

Footsteps were heard outside his door and a moment later Lacey, one of the night hospital staff, walked in urgently. "Joshua?" she called out and ran up to the bed.

Murtagh was clenching his knees painfully, breathing hard, eyes wide. Already he was having troubles recalling the memory/dream, but he knew that it had been bad. And he was trembling, in shock. But as a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder, he yelped and stared at the nurse by his side.

"Joshua?" Lacey called in concern, her black hair running down her shoulders as she stood beside him. Blue eyes stared into his gray eyes and Murtagh shivered at the intensity with which she was boring into him. "Is everything all right?"

As Murtagh shook himself, trying to calm down, he nodded his head. "Bad dream," he explained and Lacey sighed, glancing at the clock.

"You may as well get up. There's only a few minutes until wake up time." And with that she left him, Murtagh laying back down on his bed.

The dream disturbed him for more than one reason. But mostly what bothered him was that he couldn't remember it. How could he be bothered by something he couldn't remember?

(Later in the day)

"Joshua!"... "Joshua!"

Murtagh's eyes snapped back to Angie who looked exhausted this morning with dark circles under her eyes, though why he couldn't understand.

"Yes?" he asked her. He was fully dressed and he had just eaten breakfast in his room. Angie was currently standing beside his desk as he was seated there, the worksheets in front of him. And though he was a bit exhausted and put out, he was somewhat excited. He couldn't wait to be released from his imprisonment that made up his punishment, but if all went well this morning he would be home free.

"Pay attention, Joshua!" Angie demanded curtly. "If you want to get off of level zero lock down, you need to start listening!"

"Sorry," Murtagh murmured sheepishly. He was starting to play by the rules because he really hated level zero lock down. It was just plain boring. And so, he'd tell them what they wanted to know just to get off of it. But it didn't really reflect how he felt. Oh well. He was planning on escaping anyways. But to do that, he needed to get off of level zero lock down.

"Now," she firmly said. "The doctor will be coming in shortly to talk to you, and hopefully you've learned well enough to behave by now."

"Yes, Ms. Angie," Murtagh replied respectfully, acting like a good boy for once. And he hated every minute of it. But he kept the sarcasm out of his voice, choosing to be obedient.

With that, Angie scooped up the papers off of his desk and disappeared, and Murtagh sighed. Leaning back in his chair, he was careful to make sure that he didn't fall over this time. And as Dr. Stephen came in, he let his chair down.

Angie was not with him, but he preferred it that way. "Doctor," he greeted but in reality he'd rather call the man "baldy". However that would only make things worse for him.

"Joshua," Baldy greeted him generously, readjusting his white doctor's coat. Then, taking a look at the pages in his hands, Murtagh was surprised to find a relatively pleased expression on baldy's face. "So," Baldy began after a moment of looking things over. And he seemed in great consideration about everything, suspicious almost. "You know that property damage will not be tolerated?"

And Murtagh nodded, though he desperately wanted to say that kidnapping and brainwashing wouldn't be tolerated by him either. 'I need to pick and choose my battles,' Murtagh thought. But all he replied on the surface was, "Yes, sir." See? He was being a good boy!

"And about your treatment?" This one was the hardest for Murtagh, and with the doctor eyeing his every move as he waited for a response, Murtagh almost lost his cool.

"If you'll involve me in the treating and deciding process, I'll cooperate." Whatever it took to please the doctor at this point, that was what Murtagh was going to give him. Within reason, of course.

Baldy continued to eye him suspiciously, but Murtagh held his gaze firmly. Finally, the doctor relented. "Okay," Dr. Windstead finally acquiesced, though with more reluctance in his tone than Murtagh wanted. "I suppose we can give you another try."

'Yes!' Murtagh shouted in his thoughts and inside he was jumping for joy. But he was careful to keep his face composed as the doctor walked over to the door, opened it, and gestured Murtagh to his freedom. Well, at least more freedom than before. He was still a prisoner here in this complex. And he'd really like to see Michael Jordan before he left...

As Murtagh walked out, he noticed that a storm was being chat up by the group that had befriended him. Lizzie was busy discussing with Lucy the differences between a career as an engineer vs. one as a computer programmer. "I don't know about you, but I'd hate to settle for a desk job all day."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Lucy argued. "There are some incredibly unique programs coming out, and with the evolution in computer language, I think that more opportunities will arise in that field as well."

"But wouldn't you be sitting at a desk all day?" Elizabeth pushed, and Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Not all of us like a career where you're doing nothing but driving all day."

"That's not true! That's not what engineering is about!"

Their arguments went on and on, though Murtagh felt it was pointless. Besides, even if they chose to live in this world he highly doubted that the people who kidnapped them would ever allow them to have a job. Either that, or if they did have a job, they'd have no choice in their career as to what they'd worked as. And if they resisted they'd be brainwashed to go to that career.

'Why me?' Murtagh thought in curiosity and confusion. Then he amended, 'Why all of us? Why were _**we**_ chosen? What was so unique about us that they wanted to take us from our homes and our families? And what do they intend to do with us?"

An even more frightening question then occurred to him. 'And when they're done with us, when they've used us for whatever they're going to use us for, what's going to happen to us then?"

A shiver ran down his spine at this and he felt big Mike walk up to him. "You all right?" Michael asked and Murtagh struggled to come up with a satisfactory answered.

"Just tired," he finally replied, though big Mike didn't look satisfied. So he added, "I had a nightmare last night." And he hoped big Mike would leave it at that.

But he didn't. He looked concerned and slipped an arm around his shoulders, though Murtagh shrugged it off. Still, big Mike wasn't deterred which Murtagh appreciated. "About what?" Big Mike asked and Murtagh put a hand to his head, tired of the questions.

"I can't remember," Murtagh finally answered. "And that's what frustrates me the most! How can something bad like that happen to me and I just can't remember it? And yet I know it happened. I remembered the feelings I felt when waking up from the nightmare."

Now that he thought about it, it was much the same way he felt about this place, this situation. He knew that something bad had happened before, but he always had struggles remembering. Was that what the other patients felt before they finally gave in and were brainwashed? If so, he shuddered to think so.

And even more frightening was the rapidness of the change that was occurring to him against his will. He felt like he was loosing control of his life and fast.

Big Mike said nothing. He merely gave him a sympathetic gaze. But there was something else in that gaze; it was the gaze of someone saying they understood, that they'd been there before.

A haunted feeling accompanied Murtagh as he went throughout the day. Breakfast was a bore, but he was too busy remembering the knowing look that big Mike had given him. When JJ asked if he was all right, he just couldn't answer him.

And during group therapy, even though he cooperated, there was such a deadness in his tone that it worried him. Something was happening, and he didn't even know what it was. But it was what happened in the evening that worried him the most.

During the visiting hours the patients would sometimes be visited by their family members and friends. Though Murtagh had to admit, he highly doubted that those were their actual family members and friends. More than likely, he suspected that they were hired actors and actresses.

It was during that time that he'd been called up by Angie who seemed to have recovered her chirpiness. "You have a visitor!" she informed him with a smile and when Murtagh gave her a questioning look for he never got visitors, she told him, "Your mother!"

It was then that his heart dropped. He had no mother. Selene something had died long ago. Ugh! Why couldn't he exactly remember the name of his mother?

When Angie saw the cautious look portrayed on Murtagh's face she sighed. "Just give her a chance, okay? You've given her a lot of grief. But she still loves you."

With that she led him to the door and opened it with her card. Why Murtagh was following, he didn't know. He didn't even want to see this woman. But as she led him through the hallways and into the visiting room, a large metal door with a window in it, Murtagh took a deep breath to calm himself.

Angie opened the door and Murtagh stepped inside. Inside there was a desk, a few couches, and a large table. A ping pong table was folded up and resting against the hard wall, and by the ping pong table he saw her.

She was leaning back, her face a worried expression and when she saw him she brightened up immediately. Bright brown curls adorned her face, falling to her shoulders. Her eyes were the color green and her nose small and feminine. Her eyes were narrow, Asian like, and she was overall very pretty. She also seemed to have a very protective personality.

It wasn't the fact that this woman perked up when she saw him that shocked Murtagh and made him afraid. It wasn't the fact that he was somewhat comfortable in her arms when she embraced him, weeping into his shoulders some that confused him. It wasn't the fact that she inquired very tenderly if he was all right, holding his face lovingly that had him trembling. It was the fact that he recognized her. It was the fact that he _**remembered**_ her.

The sound of her voice, the way she held him, the way she worried over him all seemed to bring back memories that seemed long forgotten. And Murtagh didn't want to believe it. But still, in the back of his mind he had vague memories of being held in her arms as a child after he'd run away that day from his birth mother who had been hitting him.

And then there were the vague memories of the joy and excitement he felt when this woman and another man who seemed familiar but he didn't recognize had taken him to court to adopt him. He remembered feeling free, like he would finally have parents who would love him and wouldn't harm him anymore. And he felt like he could finally have a family that would value him. They already loved him.

With great fear, Murtagh was confused. It clashed with the other memories that he barely remembered anymore, except these memories seemed somewhat stronger, somewhat more genuine.

Murtagh shook his head. "Mother?" he whispered, testing to see her reaction. And just like he remembered what her personality was like, she immediately brightened up when he called her that.

"Yes, sweety?" she asked tenderly and Murtagh was overwhelmed. When she saw this, and his confused expression, she gently guided him over to the couch and sat besides him. All the while, Murtagh was in complete shock and confusion. "Is everything all right? Do you remember me now?"

"Remember," Murtagh whispered, and more unbidden memories surfaced. He remember dining with his adoptive father's parents for the first time, how his mother and father had scolded him gently for getting mud all over the kitchen. But his grandparents didn't seem to be phased at all. Instead, they'd urged him to go shower, and when he came out there were chocolate chip cookies waiting for him.

He remembered his mother coming to bat for him when he was being bullied in school, and how she'd threatened to remove him if the administration didn't do anything about it. And he remembered his scratches being treated with the home emergency kit after he'd taken a tumble after doing a stupid trick on his new dirt bike, something his mother had been very unhappy about. She'd scolded him because for all she knew he might not have gotten off that easily. He could have bigger injuries that would have required him to go to the hospital.

But they were all fuzzy memories, though still clearer than the others that Murtagh was desperate to hold onto. And it was as these memories warred with the ones in his mind of that foreign place that his mother started examining him closer.

"Are you all right?" she asked him once more and Murtagh shook his head.

"I'm so confused," he admitted, and he was very comfortable around her. "I don't understand... It's like it's not as it should be..." And he didn't know why he was bearing his soul to her, expressing his feelings. But he couldn't help it, he couldn't help but trust her.

The woman sighed. "It's the amnesia. It must be." After that they sat in silence for a little while, Murtagh trying to process through everything. He was so confused...

As they sat there, Murtagh trying to come to grip with his new found memories, the woman playing with the keys in her hand, keys that Murtagh now recognized, Angie's face appeared in the window. His mother waved and she nodded her head, willing to give them more time.

Murtagh couldn't make sense of it. It was like his whole world had crumbled, like everything he had known was a lie. And so that made him wonder. Was he really Murtagh? Did he really live in that foreign place and was it even real? Already those memories were fading.

Or there was the other option. He was suffering from psychosis and amnesia. Everything the doctor had told him might have been true. But if that was the case, why had that other land seemed so real? And why wasn't it seeming as real anymore?

The woman placed a hand on his shoulders and began gently rubbing his back. Murtagh neither flinched nor pulled away. Instead, he relaxed further. Unbidden memories of her doing this as she comforted him came to mind. She was always very kind to him as a child.

And then Murtagh wanted to scream. 'She's not my mother!' he reminded himself. But he wasn't so sure about that anymore. Maybe she really did adopt him.

Shaking somewhat, he turned back to the woman. "Mother," he asked with trepidation, and for some reason the word, the title seemed so natural on his lips. The woman immediately gave him her full attention for which he was grateful for. "When did you hear about me being in here?"

She frowned somewhat, worry on her face. "Actually, when you were identified and taken to the hospital, I was informed immediately. I used to visit you there, you know. But you were in a coma, and you weren't responding. I was so worried for a while!

"And when they said it was a suicide attempt, I wanted to cry! Dr. Windstead told me that when you were well enough they were going to take you here. I was very worried about you, that I would loose you. And after all that hard work you put out!"

"Hard work?" Murtagh echoed, confused again. The woman sighed and she glanced at him in sympathy, the compassion making Murtagh want to cry himself.

"You were working on overcoming your hallucinations," mother replied. And though Murtagh didn't want to believe it, he couldn't deny that this was another source to confirm what the doctor said. But he still refused to believe that he'd tried to commit suicide.

They sat there in silence once more, and Murtagh didn't say anything. His gaze drifted around the room, and as the seconds and minutes ticked by, he didn't once look at her. Finally, she broke the silence and he stared at her once more. "Then I heard you for the first time since all this on the phone."

Murtagh couldn't help but flinch at that. Part of him was telling him to apologize, that he shouldn't have hurt her like that. But part of him was having a hard time accepting this as real. "I was very worried," was all his mother said, and with a sigh, Murtagh put his face to his hands.

"Forgive me, mother," he finally said. And he didn't know why he was apologizing though he supposed it was because he had to play the part if he was going to escape. "I-I don't know what to think anymore." And that last part was the most truthful thing he'd said in their entire conversation.

She smiled slightly, with tears in her eyes, and she rubbed his shoulders once more. "Don't think of it," she whispered tenderly. "Just get better. That's all I ask."

Suddenly, Angie burst through the door, looking somewhat distracted. "Sorry, but time's up."

Angie waited as Murtagh and Mrs. Vandervoot exchanged another hug. A few more words were passed between them, and then Mrs. Vandervoot left.

The young man sighed the moment she was out of sight. It was all very confusing. As Angie came up to him, he flinched slightly. "You okay?" she asked him, worry lacing her tone.

Murtagh shook his head. "I don't know."

(Slight time elapse)

The next two days passed as a blur for Murtagh, and all the while he was aware that the big trip was coming up. But he had other things on his mind to. One of them was the woman who had claimed she was his mother. And then there were the unexpected memories that would pop up that confirmed what the doctor had been telling him.

It was a very confusing time for Murtagh and at one point he'd even begun reconsidering his escape attempt. But then he'd remind himself that everything was a lie and that that other place that he could no longer remember the name of was real. But the memories of that place whose name he could no longer remember were disappearing even more rapidly.

Only one name now stuck out to him as clear as day. Eragon. The rest were blurry. But he also remembered their relation. 'Brother, come get me!' he begged in his mind. 'I'm losing myself!' And he was afraid, desperate to have some confirmation that Eragon was indeed real.

However, no Eragon ever showed up. At this point, Murtagh felt it would be a miracle if he did. And he was beginning to lose hope that Eragon would ever come for him. Some part of him began wondering if Eragon even existed. He wondered whether that had indeed been a hallucination.

But part of him also always held onto the hope that those memories were real, that that life had not been imagined. And though he had no hope of rescue anymore, he wanted to hold onto the memories of his former life, in hopes that it could fuel his new life here.

That was if that place was indeed real.

And so, he waited patiently the next few days for an opportunity to make his escape.

As Murtagh waited in his room during quiet time, he took the time to contemplate what to do. Even if he left he had nowhere to go. That, and he was sure that he was going to be pursued. That was if he made it that far anyways. He still had yet to come up with a good escape plan.

But how to get back to his homeland, wherever that was? He didn't have any use of his powers, or magic he believed it was, and he had no way to call his people for help. He didn't even remember who they really were anymore. Such was the state of his memory.

Whatever his plans were to be, he didn't have the opportunity to think more on, for at that point Angie knocked on his door and opened it. She had a small smile on her face. "It's time for your appointment, Joshua," she informed him and Murtagh sighed, getting up from his chair by the desk. These appointments to "help" him were wearing him thin.

"Coming," he obediently promised, and then he followed Angie out the door. He had no doubt that she was leading him to Dr. Windstead, and indeed he was right. As he went through the winding maze of hallways with her, they appeared in front of the doctor's office.

Angie knocked a couple of times. "Come in," Dr. Windstead called from inside of his room, somewhat ominous and foreboding. As Angie opened the door, Murtagh prepared himself for the inevitable. And when Angie waved him in, he obediently complied.

He took a seat on the couch, the usual place he sat, and he waited patiently for their session to begin. Angie closed the door and as she did, Murtagh looked up at the doctor sitting at his desk.

Dr. Windstead was studying him closely, and Murtagh wanted to squirm from discomfort. But he held his position, attempting to keep calm. He couldn't afford to let the doctor see that he was faking his way through "treatment". And that look made him wonder if the doctor saw right through him.

But instead of commenting on such a matter, Dr. Windstead decided to address some different things. "As you know, Joshua, there is a trip coming up. I know that you've heard it from your peers, and I wanted to reassure you that this is normal. We do these trips every so often with the patients in hopes that we can find something that will further their treatment and help them."

Murtagh appeared startled by this. He hadn't expected the doctor to bring up such a topic, let alone be so blunt about it. And he was a bit taken aback by it. "What exactly does this trip and treatments entail?" he decided to ask to make it look like he was following through with his treatment.

Baldy sighed. Then he got up from his desk and went to sit by Murtagh. But Murtagh followed his every move. Baldy seemed to pick up on this. Once he was settled by Murtagh, he asked, "Are you nervous?" And it made him uncomfortable how much the doctor was picking up on his behavior.

This made the young rider deliberate. He wasn't sure what he should say to throw off suspicion. Finally, he decided to answer honestly. Well, more like give a half truth. "Yes," he admitted and the doctor nodded like this was normal. So his reaction was the same as the other patients the first time.

"Everyone is nervous the first time they go," baldy confirmed for him, and Murtagh was a bit relieved that his behavior wasn't out of the ordinary. Hopefully the doctor wouldn't suspect more.

That made Murtagh wonder. "Does it ever get better?" was his next queue, and the doctor shrugged. Wariness entered him at that point. What could possibly make everyone so nervous?

"That depends," the doctor murmured, and he was back to studying Murtagh.

"On?" Murtagh pressed, not liking the cryptic answers. When would someone give him a straight answer that solved this whole dilemma?

"You," Dr. Windstead answered back, still scrutinizing him. "All the patients are nervous, but their nerves dim the more they go. The more you go the more comfortable you become. I know these innovative treatments work. I've _**seen**_ it."

A dreaded feeling of horror spread in the room, and Murtagh was frozen with fear. Mostly he was afraid of what that statement implied, and he was worried about what they did to the patients there.

He knew that his feeling of horror was visible on his face because of the doctor's reaction. He knew that he should be composing his face better. But he just couldn't help it. He was afraid.

Dr. Windstead placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't be nervous," he murmured softly. There's nothing to worry about." But how could he not be nervous?

Finally, after a few moments he was able to move again. It had felt as if his entire body had turned off on him during that time period and his body was only now turning back on. Slowly, trembling for the first time in a long time, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

Turning away from the doctor, he worked even harder to get himself under control. Then another thought occurred to him that made a shiver run down his spine. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Does what hurt?" the doctor inquired curiously and with surprise.

"The treatments," Murtagh clarified, for that was one of the few things he could think of that would frighten the patients to go there. If not, it would have just been another standard boring therapy session. That was why he was worried about what they were going to do him. His life had been nothing but pain already, and he didn't want to go through any more of that.

The doctor sighed exasperatedly. "Of all the things to be nervous about, _**that's**_ what you're nervous about?" And the doctor shook his head in amusement. "No, I don't believe it does. At least, I've never heard about anything hurting. The patients have never complained about that before."

'Of course? Why would they complain to you?' Murtagh thought dryly. Even if they were in pain, they wouldn't tell the doctors. And even if they did, the doctors wouldn't listen, even with how benevolent they tried to portray themselves. And it's not like the doctors would admit it anyways.

"But what will happen to me?" Murtagh pushed further, wanting to know what would happen if he stayed. Dr. Windstead merely raised an eyebrow, studying him once more.

"The treatments vary from patient to patient. I have no knowledge of what they will do to you."

'Which is just great,' Murtagh sarcastically thought. And it did not make him happy that he didn't know what he was in for if he stayed. It was right then and there that he made up his mind. He was leaving this place. His homeland was real; it had to be.

"Speaking of treatment," baldy interrupted his thoughts. "I thought we might begin out treatments today. I want to see how you're doing."

With that, Dr. Windstead got up from his chair and went to sit back by his desk. Murtagh gave him his full attention. He needed to be on guard even more now.

The doctor waited for a moment as if wanting to see what Murtagh would do. Then he asked, "How are your hallucinations of this land called Alagaesia coming? Have they gotten better?"

With a start, Murtagh realized one of the things he'd forgotten. Much as he hated what baldy was doing to him, he was grateful to the doctor in that instant for reminding him. But he'd better not tell baldy that, for then baldy might be more careful next time.

It was with that incident that Murtagh also realized that the doctor didn't know how far his memory loss had progressed. The doctor had slipped up accidentally.

"Um," Murtagh began, pretending like he was having troubles phrasing things. "I haven't really had any imaginations of that place lately."

Baldy leaned back in his chair like he wasn't pleased and didn't believe him. "And that incident this morning?" he asked, making Murtagh frown.

"Incident?" Murtagh inquired and baldy was giving him that look like he was a child trying to cause a problem. But none the less the doctor clarified, "The staff went into your room this morning because you were screaming. What was that about?"

Murtagh winced. Of course that would have reached the ears of the doctor. Was there anything he didn't know? And so he decided to be truthful. "I had a nightmare," he clarified. "I know it was terrifying, but that's all I can remember. Mostly what I remember were the feelings associated with that dream. But I can't exactly recall the dream. Is that normal?"

The doctor let his guard down after that. He could see that Murtagh was being cooperative. He sighed, leaning forward some to address the issue.

"Sometimes," he explained. "The patients experience brief panic attacks, even in their dreams. You see, a lot of the patients are here for the same thing that you are, hallucinations, traumatic pasts, memory loss, and what not. It is not uncommon for those who have had abusive pasts like you to experience such moments. But that's what were treating you for, isn't it? These things will happen. It's part of the healing process.

A frown adorned Murtagh's face. "But why can't I recall the dream?" he asked. Surely there was a hint the doctor could give him further as to what was going on?

The doctor shrugged. "You're amnesic, remember? Why can't you recall your life before here? It's simply because the mind is blocking it out. It must have been too painful to remember, and you're not ready to process through it. Thus the inability to recall."

"And yet it appears that I recalled it in a dream?"

"For your subconscious was active then and brought it briefly to the attention of your conscious mind," was the answer he was given. Then doctor then looked at a dream charm that he had on his window, playing with it briefly.

"Dreams are funny things. The truth is, even with all our advanced technology and advanced knowledge with how the brain works, even in dream state, there is much we don't know about it. But there are also things we _**do**_ know."

Dr. Windstead paused to give Murtagh some time to accept this. "Listen," he then began. "I know that this is difficult for you and you're going through rough time, but that's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you make sense of things and to move on in life. I'm here to help you get your life back."

While Murtagh didn't believe a thing the doctor said, he nodded, playing the part. His gazed at the floor, miserable in that instant. He wanted nothing more than to get his life back, but he knew that his definition and the doctor's definition were not the same. The doctor merely wanted him to have the life that he and his comrades wanted Murtagh to have, regardless of Murtagh's feelings in the matter.

"And how do you intend to do that?" Murtagh asked, playing with the fuzzy cloth on the couch.

At first the doctor didn't answer. Then he replied simply, "By treating you."

Murtagh nodded. He should have known. That was all what it boiled down to in the end, Murtagh being treated, or rather brainwashed, until he was exactly like the doctor wanted him to be.

They were both silent for a moment, and then the doctor stirred enthusiastically. "That reminds me," he began on a brighter note. "You're mother talked to me and gave me the good news."

Murtagh looked up suddenly. "Good news?" he inquired in confusion, his face blank.

Dr. Windstead smiled some. "Some of your memories returned. Do you want to tell me about them?"

And the red rider glanced away at this. No, he didn't really want to talk about it, but he also knew that he didn't have a choice in the matter. If he didn't it would be seen as disobedience, and he didn't want to be punished again. He knew that there was only one avenue to go, and the doctor knew to. That frustrated Murtagh to no end, but he didn't let it show.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he decided to give some truth. "It's confusing," was all he said, and Dr. Windstead nodded.

"That's to be expected," the doctor admitted. "Some of our amnesiac and hallucinogenic patients are confused when they first start remembering their real lives."

"So I'm not alone in this," Murtagh murmured. The doctor shook his head. "Good to know," he responded, but he meant it in a completely different way, of course.

"And?" the doctor pushed. "What do you remember?" He seemed almost too eager in this.

It took a brief moment to remember some of what he'd seen in his memories then. "I remember she used to shelter me from _**her**_." He specifically put bitterness at the end to make it seem more realistic. "She was always very kind to me, wasn't she?" And he looked up at that point.

"Yes," the doctor agreed, suddenly in very deep thought. "She was."

Murtagh didn't say anymore, so they stayed silent for a few minutes. Then the doctor asked him more question about his "memories". He claimed that it was an attempt to help him remember, but Murtagh knew better. None the less, he cooperated because he didn't want suspicion on him.

One thing bothered Murtagh though. Where did these memories come from? That was something that had been on his mind a lot. He still didn't believe those memories were real.

They had been triggered by seeing that woman, and while they still seemed so real, Murtagh was having troubles coming to grips that those things that he'd seen and felt real were in actuality his life beforehand. He still believed that other land was real. And with a shock he realized that he'd forgotten the name of his homeland again, right after being reminded of it. That worried him.

Why the woman triggered those memories, he didn't know. But as real as they seemed he was determined not to get caught up in them. They were false, he was sure.

Going through that part of the session and playing along was one of the hardest things he'd done. The doctor's sessions seemed to be reinforcing the memories of the woman, and Murtagh had no choice but to cooperate. They made the memories seem more real, not that they didn't already. But it also seemed to diminish the feelings that the other memories were real, the memories of his homeland.

In fact, it seemed to help him forget it more.

This only made Murtagh more and more confused as his emotions began warring within him and contradicting him. It also seemed to change his perspective and outlook on life, though whether for better of for worse, for good or for ill, he didn't know yet.

As the session came to an end and the doctor stood up to see him to the door, Murtagh couldn't help but be relieved. Finally he could get out of this brainwashing session. But he also felt even more off balance and unsure than before. Some of his previous convictions and beliefs were wavering, and he felt lost. But the doctor didn't seem to have a problem with it.

"I'm pleased with this session," the doctor complimented and praised him and Murtagh had no doubt that he was. His confusion and emotions were very visible at this point. It was only a matter of time before he would break. But he also felt that he had experienced something like this before, only it was administered in a different way. It was a warning to him to be cautious, but he didn't recognize it.

The door was open, and there Angie stood, waiting for him. As he walked out and the door was shut, Angie asked, "How was it?"  
>Instead, Murtagh decided to give a brief overview of what happened. "We talked about my nightmare," was all he said. As he looked tired and exhausted, Angie decided to leave it be.<p>

He was taken back to his room as the other patients seemed to be lined up for lunch. "Go wash up," she commanded him and Murtagh nodded. It was time to eat.

(A little later)

Murtagh was currently waiting in his room. Late afternoon was another opportunity when they had quiet time, and Murtagh was using it to think. Currently, he was on his bed, attempting to relax as he thought things through in an effort to make sense of everything.

The world around him had changed so much that he didn't know what to think anymore. It was frustrating to think that what had once been so clear to him was now fuzzy.

'Do I believe what they're telling me, or don't I?' Murtagh thought to himself, and he huffed some. 'I am more confused than ever. Am I Murtagh or Joshua?'

Part of him was screaming that he was Joshua. But part of him was also screaming that he was Murtagh. As his feelings and thoughts roared on, he turned on his side and curled up, grabbing his knees to comfort himself. He was so confused and he didn't know what to think anymore.

But there was one solution he knew that he still wanted to go through with. He wanted to run away. But how was he supposed to do that? They were constantly watched.

He knew that if he succeeded in running away and remaining away that then he could think things through and finally be given a chance to figure things out without being pushed one way or another. He so desperately wanted to believe that he was Murtagh, and while he still wished for that, in the end, he didn't really know anymore. But what he needed most was to make sense of things.

Even when he did run away, there was still the question of how he was going to care for himself. But that wasn't an issue back in his homeland, was it? This was a different world and different circumstances, however. What worked there wouldn't necessarily work here.

If there was even real, that is. And it was with that thought that he was right back to square one. His running away was dependent on his believed homeland being real. It was dependent on his life there and the people there being real.

So what would he do if they weren't real?

What would he do if that life was indeed a lie? What would he do if the doctors were telling him the truth and it was all a hallucination? If that was the case, then he'd be in even more trouble than before. So that meant that if he left it was a big risk, and one he wouldn't be able to undo once he did it.

He put his face in his hands as he curled up. Things were so confusing and he was no longer sure of things anymore. He had no evidence other than his belief that that other place was real, but he had all the evidence that this place was real. The doctor was right. What proof was there that his homeland even existed when no one had ever really heard of it?

"No," he whispered to himself. He couldn't think like that. In fact, he couldn't _**afford**_ to think like that. It was real. It had to be real, or he was even more lost than he already was.

"It's real," he whispered more in an attempt to convince himself. But he wasn't very successful. "It _**has**_ to be real! It can't not be!" Now his head was throbbing with pain.

Ugh! Why couldn't things just be simple?

It was as he was thinking that that he heard a voice call out, "Everybody line up!"

Jumping to his feet, he slipped on his socks that he'd taken off and walked to the door. As he walked out and to the commons area he was surprised to find that the staff was giving everybody their shoes back. As Angie walked up and gave him his shoes, he walked to a sofa to put them on.

Trevor sat beside him, looking a little excited. "What's going on?" Murtagh inquired in confusion and Trevor turned to him in pure excitement.

"We're going outside to the gardens!" Trevor expressed himself and Murtagh couldn't help but feel elated. Finally, after all this time, he was going outside!

Murtagh immediately went to line up. There was no way he was passing an opportunity like this up. And he could feel that the others that were with him felt the same way. In fact the area practically buzzed with excitement and everyone was talking.

Big Mike and JJ walked up to him in line, trying to talk to him, but Murtagh wasn't paying attention. His eyes were too focused on Angie who was watching the patients like a hawk. He was waiting for her command and signal that they could go.

When everybody had their shoes and were lined up, she raised her voice. "Okay, listen up everybody!" The whole group immediately quieted down and all eyes were now on her. "You know the rules everybody! No rough housing! No yelling! Stay in line! Be respectful!"

With that she turned to the door and opened it. Then they were off.

Excitement poured through Murtagh even more, and it was like he was given an energy boost. He briefly forgot about his problems and the only thoughts on his mind were about what the garden could be like. Did they have any flowers there? Would he be able to find a way to escape?

They went through a maze of hallways that Murtagh had never been in before. Finally, they came to a big, metal door. As she opened it and held it open the whole crowd practically ran out the door in excitement, Murtagh being one of them. He was eager to begin exploring and seeing what there was in this garden that all the patients talked about.

As he made it out the door, he gasped in amazement. The sky could not be seen for it was blocked off by tree branches. Underneath, in the shade, there were metal tables and metal chairs to sit at. But that was near the door.

Some small, wooden fences marked off the trees and there were some brick walls surrounding other trees that the patients were sitting on.

The trees were massive, and that was only the trees that Murtagh was seeing. The garden branched out further, and even better, it went into areas that the staff couldn't see. It appeared that the garden was massive, and perhaps easy to get lost in.

The staff had scattered to cover all the areas of the garden because of this. It was their responsibility to keep an eye on the patients, or captives as Murtagh wanted to believe but wasn't so sure of anymore. But that meant that perhaps the place was ripe with opportunity.

Quickly, Murtagh wandered off, much to the disappointment of his new friends who were seated in the metal seats. His back was to them so he didn't see them frown, or their looks of forlorn.

As Murtagh wandered he couldn't help but look around. To his surprise, he also saw flowers. In fact, under the canopy of one of the trees, there was indeed a flower garden. Some of the patients were in there, smelling the roses literally, and as it was in January, Murtagh wondered how on earth the flowers were even in full bloom. Shouldn't flowers only bloom in the spring or summer?

The answer came to Murtagh as he came across another flower garden as he walked on. What he saw surprised him. The flowers were floating in a pond of water. Oh, so that's why the patients didn't step in amongst the flowers. He thought they only did that to respect nature. But as it turns out, they just didn't want to get wet, so they respected the distance.

Sudden curiosity swept through Murtagh. Why wasn't this water frozen? And how could mere water make it to where the flowers were in bloom?

An impulsive decision reached Murtagh and he let his hand into the water, fully expecting it to be cold. What he wasn't expecting was very warm water, causing him to squeal in shock. His eyes widened in amazement. So that was why the flowers were in bloom. But how were they keeping the waters warm? Was there something in there to keep the water heated? He believed so.

Murtagh wandered further. Now that he had that question answered, he was back to his mission. He couldn't afford to be distracted. After all, that's what the doctors wanted, wasn't it?

As he wandered, trying to find the wall to the outside, to his excitement he finally found it. And just to his luck he found a tree a little ways away that none the less had branches that went up to the wall. The branches were over run and not trimmed, and he assumed that the staff didn't pay attention to it because they assumed that the patients didn't know how to climb trees.

But Murtagh did, and this was his ticket to freedom. Quickly glancing behind him and to his sides, he made sure that no one was here to see what he was doing. Then he quickly jumped over the small fence and started trying to climb up the wide trunk.

It was difficult because the branches were high up to where he couldn't reach them, even with jumping, and he couldn't get his hands or arms all the way around the tree. Thus he could see why they weren't so worried about patients using this tree to escape.

Because of that, it took several tries and falling on his butt several times, not to mention nearly spraining his ankle several times, before he finally got a grip. Then, after having a very hard time skimming up the tree, he finally made it into the branches. After that he took a brief break to catch his breath.

He hadn't realized how out of shape he was until this point. That only made him frustrated. They didn't let their patients exercise enough and probably for a reason. They didn't want them to run away. But that didn't matter now, as Murtagh had adrenaline going through his system to compensate.

After a minute, he was ready. 'Come on!' he thought to himself, sending his mind encouragement, and with a big mental push he reached out and started using the branches to climb to the wall. The branches were so thin when he finally made it to the wall that he could literally hear them snapping, but it was too late to turn back. He was already committed.

Just as the branches snapped and gave way, he reached the wall. As he started falling, trying to avoid yelping or squealing for fear that it would alert someone, he reached out and caught the edge of the wall. He dangled there dangerously for a minute, the brick wall rough against his hands and strangely enough not providing enough of a grip.

The branches he had climbed he saw strewn on the ground beneath him, and he gulped as he saw the height. If he fell now he would certainly be injured and then he most definitely would not be able to escape.

His fingers started slipping, and as such he reached out further with his other hand, toggling between his two hands as he slipped in an attempt to keep his hold on the wall. Then, when his fingers and hands were finally further up the wall, he heaved his legs and feet to the wall by his chest and used it to push up, propelling him self onto the wall.

Finally making it all the way onto the ledge of the wall, he laid flat on it, his arms and legs dangling off both sides, heaving from exhaustion. Resting for a minute, he then propped himself up on the ledge and looked down the other side. Then he paled and gulped.

He should have thought things through better. The other side had just as much a drop as this one, in fact a little more. He would surely be as injured if he fell or dropped on this side as he would on the other side. But, looking back to where he had come from, he saw that he had no other choice. It was too late to turn back, and he didn't want to have to explain himself to the staff.

So, he thought long and hard of how to go about this without injuring himself. After all, if he was injured, there was no escape. There was only a prison waiting for him with people eager to brainwash him, or so he desperately wanted to believe. But he didn't really know anymore.

The only readily available option that came to him was that he had to break his fall somehow. But how would he do that? Then, thinking back to some comments he'd heard Lucy say about tumbling, his eyes widened as an idea formed. He would tumble. He would somersault as he rolled.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared for the inevitable. And then he acted on impulse, dropping, and hoping for the best. As he came to the ground he rolled in a somersault, thus dispelling some of the weight of the fall. And to his surprise it worked. He only suffered a mild aching in his ankles, but he could deal with that. And he was gleeful as he looked around at his new freedom.

'Finally!' he thought excitedly, and he saw that he was on sidewalk. Quickly stealing some money from someone, and feeling guilty about it, he walked to the bus station nearby and loaded himself on the nearest bus that would take him out of the city.

No one questioned him or his hospital clothes as he entered, and when he exited the bus outside the city, he made sure it was near a forest. There was no way that he was going to be able to stay near civilization. Besides, he wanted time away from people to allow himself to think.

He wandered for hours and as the day grew on he became chilly and cold. But still he pressed on in the wilderness. Finally, when he thought that he was far enough away, he built a fire, hoping that it was small enough to where no one would see it or the smoke from it. And as he sat by a tree he fell asleep, sleeping deeply and soundly, not caring about his environment.

He woke up at the sound of a big noise, a helicopter. With a gasp he sat up as he was laying on the ground and listened. He heard voices!

It was pitch black outside, and that only made the search lights that were zooming over the forest from the helicopters seem more menacing. As he looked up and saw the coals from his fire red he quickly scooped dirt onto theme with his hands to put the fire out. Then he made a run for it.

How they had found him, he didn't know. Briefly, a part of him wondered if it was the fire he made. But regardless, he had to get out of there. As he ran, he suddenly heard shouts, and then patters of feet as people began chasing after him.

"Halt!" a voice commanded, but Murtagh kept running through the trees, desperate to get away. He had to keep his freedom! Already it was slipping away!

He didn't see the tree branch until it was too late. Yelling, he fell onto the forest floor, and the people caught up with him, surrounding him.

They were officers, ten in total, but still way too many for him to fight off. And he had no wish to get in trouble with the law enforcement. They were looking at him compassionately, but their demeanor was of one that was trying to be cautious and calm him down.

"Joshua," the lead officer called. He was male and tall and lean. "It's all right. We're here to help you." And as he offered a hand, Murtagh pulled away, still flat on his back from falling.

"My name's Murtagh, not Joshua!" he yelled back at them. But even he wasn't so sure anymore. But one thing he was certain of. He was not going back _**there**_.

"You're not thinking straight," a female officer told him. "Let us take you back. You need help."

"No!" Murtagh protested and he immediately got on his feet to run for it.

He almost made it out. He pushed past the officers surrounding him, and so quick was his flight that they were not able to restrain him. But it didn't last for long.

Something suddenly struck him and poked him. Immediately he felt dizzy and he gasped in shock as tiredness began spreading throughout his body and limbs. He slowed down, his vision blurry.

As he reached to his neck, he pulled out a small dart and realized that they had tranquilized him. Looking in the distance he saw a helicopter, and he thought he saw someone with a gun in their hand where the dart would have been shot from. Then the lights moved to shine on him.

As he fell, in exhaustion and shock, he heard the officers run up to him. Then they put their hands on him to carry him away, but he began struggling and fighting them.

It was all in vain however. He blacked out at that moment.

His body went limp.

(Some time later)

Murtagh gasped as he woke up and sat up abruptly. He was no doubt back in the hospital, but this time he was in a place he didn't recognize. The walls were cushioned but the door was metal and prison like. It was a rather large room except there was no furniture. The floor was really cushy though.

As he groaned, the sedative was still in his system despite it wearing off, he noticed that he didn't wake up to pain this time. And he realized that he must barely have been put in there, so he hadn't been back in the hospital that long.

There was a small window in the door that had a metal panel on it on the outside. This panel was slid open, and then indistinct voices were heard outside. Suddenly the door opened.

In walked Dr. Windstead, his arms crossed disapprovingly as he gave a stern gaze, his fingers tapping his upper arms. His lips were pinched, and Murtagh stared back defiantly.

The door shut behind him. "And here I thought we were making progress," he scolded.

He didn't know where it came from, but sudden anger coursed through him. "You will _**never**_ brainwash me!" spat at the doctor, still sitting down from when he'd woken up. He was determined to hold onto the memories that he wanted to be real. Sudden determination to not believe those other memories about the woman coursed through him.

Dr. Windstead nodded solemnly and graciously. As he did so, sudden anguish that he knew he hadn't felt for a long time poured into Murtagh. And his determination waned once more as his mind warred within himself as to what was right and real.

"Why?" he begged the doctor, and he knew that Dr. Windstead could see how his various emotions, thoughts, and memories were warring within him, contradicting him at every turn. And the doctor could see his anguished confusion.

But baldy didn't answer. He merely replied softly, gently, "You will be staying here until we make the trips. Then you will be taken securely there for treatment." After that, he quietly made to leave.

The doctor turned back to him suddenly, hand on the door. "You made headlines," he commented, looking back at him.

Then he left.

**Thanks for reading this. **

**If your reading, please review.**

**Firestar'sniece**


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